


Blood in the Breeze

by Cinlat



Series: Meet Me On The Battlefield [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cathar Culture, F/F, F/M, Final "book" of this series, Fluff, Fynta's still a disaster, Lana rolls her eyes a lot, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post-Star Wars: The Old Republic - Knights of the Eternal Throne, and lots of black eyes and bloody noses, and probably making all the wrong choices, because Fynta, death threats are made
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat
Summary: Fynta has always known who and what she was. After losing Arcann and spending time with Mandalorians, she's left with a void where her confidence used to be. Add on top of that the struggles that come with commanding a rebel alliance during a supply shortage, trying to figure out how to mom, and the determination to put her family back together, she's got a lot going on. It's a perfect time for Valkorion to sneak back into her life while she's distracted.
Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper, Elara Dorne/Male Republic Trooper, Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Male Sith Warrior, Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Theron Shan, Lana Beniko/Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Vector Hyllus/Female Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine, Vector Hyllus/Theron Shan, and a whole lot more but these are the mains
Series: Meet Me On The Battlefield [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/566089
Comments: 33
Kudos: 21





	1. Tides of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the next installment of my Meet Me on the Battlefield series, also know as Fynta's disaster of a life. We're going to get a little careless with canon in this one because let's face it, there was a LOT wrong with the way it played out in-game for certain classes.
> 
> I'll be finishing the expansions with this one and will aim for a bi-monthly update. (fingers crossed)
> 
> Part one: Family is more than Blood  
> Part two: Heart on a Trigger
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**The Gravestone**   
**En Route to Voss**   
**Three Months After Arcann's Defeat**

Fynta glared at her armor with hands on hips and eyes narrowed. She could choose gold and white to honor Cinlat. The huntress had worn those colors when Fynta first met her, though she'd never explained why. Cinlat had changed to black and red shortly after Fynta and Verin joined her crew. Again, no explanation. Well, not to Fynta, at least.

Glancing down at her hand, Fynta grimaced. She didn't consider herself vain, but shades of yellow wouldn't work well with her skin tone. Too many people would ask if she was feeling well, then Fynta would get annoyed and punch someone. Fynta couldn't take another lecture on proper decorum for a military commander from Lana. White and gold were out of the question.

White and black then, or maybe black and grey? Those had worked in Havoc Squad, and had the advantage of providing decent camouflage. Fynta sighed. She didn't want another reminder of the days she'd lost. When this war was over, she and Aric would leave the Alliance to do...whatever it was that two retired soldiers did. They weren't going back to the Republic, that much was certain.

Fynta didn't turn when the door hissed open behind her. Strong arms snaked around her waist, and Aric's musky scent surrounded her in a haze of security. "Still can't decide?" The seductive rumble of his voice wasn't meant to send shivered up her spine, but it did. Fynta closed her eyes, drinking in the moment of calm before reality dragged them back into battle.

Fynta and Aric were steadily rebuilding the relationship that had been lost for so long. Between her confusion of new and old memories jockeying for priority and the years that he'd lived without her, there had been plenty of moments where ideals no longer meshed. Aric had grown in ways that Fynta couldn't fathom, and there were parts of her that he felt that she kept from him. Fynta treasured the quiet times like this. With Aric's arms around her and his chin propped on her head, she could go back to those nights in their secret apartment and pretend that the past six years hadn't happened.

The illusion shattered when Aric shifted to accept a holomessage from Shillet. As much as Fynta hated it, that was one of the tensest issues between them. He was a father, and while Fynta got along well with the girl, she wasn't a mother. Aric chuckled, undoubtedly at some clever pun the girl made, and tucked the holo away. "She shouldn't risk contacting me." His smile softened despite the words. "But, damn, it's good to see her laugh again."

"You're her father," Fynta argued, looking over her shoulder before staring at the bland chest plate again. Blue and grey. She remembered helping her own buir touch up the paint on his. They were nice colors, and wouldn't Verin be surprised? "From everything you've told me about her, there's nothing she wouldn't do to make you happy."

Aric resumed his earlier position, arms tighter than before. He tried not to push Fynta into the role that she wasn't ready for, but she recognized his desperation for a cohesive family. Fynta didn't think it would be so bad, the Nautolan seemed like a great kid. It was in her own skill as a nurturer that Fynta lacked faith in.

Together, Fynta and Jorgan stared at the matte black finish on her chest plate, a reminder of the limbo in which she was trapped. Two months had passed since Senya snatched Arcann from beneath Fytna's boot. That failure dragged on, haunting sleeping nights and creating an unsatisfying routine with no end in sight. Arcann was Fynta's great hunt, and she couldn't rest until he was dead.

"Maybe it's already perfect," Fynta suggested, leaning against Aric's chest. Her fingers stroked the thin layer of fur that covered his forearms where they crossed beneath her breasts. "Maybe I'm not meant to know yet."

Aric's lips brushed Fynta's temple. "Or maybe it'll come at the right time." He inhaled along her neck before continuing. He did that a lot, lately, memorizing her scent. "That color camouflages well, at least."

Fynta snorted an unexpected laugh before turning in her husband's arms. "Always the practical one. Not sure how I made it without you."

The smile that tugged Aric's lips didn't reach his eyes. They were dimmed by years of sorrow that Fynta wouldn't have survived. "You had good people looking out for you." He sighed, smile slipping into a familiar scowl. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is to owe Shan for dragging Havoc out here?"

Fynta shook her head. If Aric had gone missing instead, she'd have abandoned the Republic and probably gotten herself killed trying to find him. Then, Lana would have thawed him out with the news that he'd not only lost years, but had also become a widower. The amount of strength that it had taken for him to carry on long enough for them to be reunited amazed Fynta.

Pulling Fynta closer, Aric pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace soon. Want some help with your kit?"

"Sure." Reaching for the troublesome beskar, Fynta looked over her shoulder. "Your men ready?"

Aric had been given command of the battalion slotted to take the plateau and open a path for Fynta's main assault. Neither had been fond of splitting up, but the Alliance was desperately short on experienced military leaders. Aygo and Aric were the most senior, which meant a lot of paperwork for Aygo, and the front lines for Aric.

"Everything is a go. We drop twenty minutes before you." Aric's eyes trailed over Fynta's body, a flash of desire lighting them from within before they settled on her face. He grinned openly at her accusatory eyebrow raise. She shoved the backplate into his hands.

"Can't blame a man for wishing." Aric's fingers skimmed down Fynta's ribs, his breath hot against her neck. She shivered, then nearly whimpered when the chest and back plate connected. The window closed; it was back to business.

Fynta cleared her throat as she bent forward to retrieve her gloves. Aric let her ass graze him before stepping aside to finish his own preparation. "Anyway," Fynta sharpened the word so that he knew she was onto his game. "I'll have Torian with me now, and I transferred Kaeto and Kozen to your group."

Aric paused while securing his pauldron, mischief draining from his glacial eyes. "Damn it, Fynta. You know how much I hate last minute changes to the roster."

"Yeah, I know." Fyna stalked closer with a smirk that would either make it worse, or ease his annoyance. Aric's nostrils flared, but not in the sexy way. She sighed. "I need the Mandalorians on the big push through the Alien Enclave. Kaeto and Kozen are open field warriors. It made more sense."

Aric rubbed the top of his head. "Fine."

Fynta grabbed Aric's gauntlet when he started for the door, forcing him to turn back. They held one another's gaze, the knowledge that this could be the last time they spoke bleeding the irritation from him. Fynta stood on her toes to give him a final kiss. "I love you, Aric Jorgan."

Aric lifted Fynta's hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Think you'll ever take my name?" It wasn't the response she expected, nor something she'd ever considered. That wasn't the way things were done in her world. People pledged their lives to one another, but taking on a different name felt like a mark of ownership or running from past shames. Verin had taken Cinlat's because he wanted to distance himself from their former clan. Fynta had followed her brother's example.

Fynta forced a grin, realizing for the first time what taking his name might mean to a man like Aric. Cathar bound themselves to a single partner, body and soul. To them, sharing a name was a matter of pride. She wondered if he'd take hers, then disregarded it immediately. There were too many ironies there to be taken seriously.

The more Fynta considered Aric's question, the more she realized that she could. Wolfe was just a name, one that she would gladly give up to made Aric happy. "I've done it before, what's one more name?" Aric's head tilted, brows pulling together. Shab, she'd never told him how she got the name Wolfe. It had been so long since she'd thought about it that her old clan barely registered anymore. "Long story, I'll tell you about it another time."

"I'll hold you to that," Aric warned, but there was a teasing note to his threat. He'd stopped trying to force the past from Fynta years ago, finally reaching the understating that Fynta didn't hide things to be secretive, but because they weren't important. Wolfe was the name Verin had given her after escaping their clan's massacre. She'd vowed to hunt down the people responsible and make them pay. Wolfe is who she'd been during the wildest parts of her life. Maybe Jorgan is who she could grow old as.

Aric watched Fynta while her thoughts spiraled light years away. She did that a lot, new and old memories stumbling over one another while her mind recovered from Valkorion's forced amnesia. She was still trying to slot everything into its proper place on the timeline, and Aric had learned to let her.

"Fynta Jorgan," she said after a moment, shifting the words around her mouth until they sounded almost natural. Fynta nodded again, adding a smile for good measure. "It's got a nice ring to it."

A Cathar's grin was an impressive sight. Aric's sharp teeth, so carefully hidden to avoid scaring others, flashed in a way that Fynta had only glimpsed a few times in their marriage. Exposing the full length of both upper and lower canines meant that he wasn't merely satisfied with Fynta's answer, he was ecstatic. Hearing his name attached to hers signified a finality on her part.

"Yeah," Aric agreed, voice lighter than she'd heard it in months. "It does."

Fynta had never been able to resist a smile like that. Not from Aric. She laughed. "After the war, once we've left all this behind, I'll take your name. Hell, we'll even have a ceremony and get a legal wedding, how does that sound?"

Aric silenced her words with the kind of kiss that left her breathless and whole all at once. It held all the emotions that he couldn't put into words. Aric had asked Fynta to make their marriage official for years, but she'd been afraid. Of course, Fynta had wrapped that fear in logic until she no longer recognized it for what it was. Recent months had proved her wrong. Fynta was a coward, and she needed to take the steps to correct that.

An alarm interrupted their kiss before it grew into something that neither had time for. With a long exhale, Aric pressed his forehead against Fynta's. "Stay safe."

"You too," Fynta whispered, unwilling to release her hold on Aric's belt. Now that she had decided to make the change, she wanted to do it immediately. Maybe Fynta should have, but the moment had passed again. Fear tightened her stomach that she'd missed her chance to do the only thing that Aric had ever asked of her.

Aric moved first, pulling Fynta's hands free and kissing them once more. He offered a tight smile, the kind that begged her not to do anything stupid until he could be there to watch over her back. Fynta responded with her traditional grin that made no promises about her own safety while demanding his.

"I'll see you soon," Aric finished, stretching their arms into the growing space between them as he turned to go. Fynta could see that there was more, but he kept it to himself.

Fynta forced deep breaths when their fingers lost contact, then her heart pounded an unfamiliar beat when Aric left her sight. Fynta told herself that this wasn't the end. They'd take Voss back, finish Arcann, then she'd deal with Aric. It sounded easy when put it into tidy steps.

Grabbing her helmet, Fynta started for the bridge to check on Koth before her team disembarked for the surface. Her confidence grew with each step, as did the assurance that everything would be fine. Somewhere in the back of Fynta's mind, Valkorion laughed.

**Coruscant**   
**Special Forces Headquarters**

Elara smiled to herself, satisfied that she'd increased SpecForce efficiency by thirteen percent. Energy vibrated through her body as she sat, waiting on a call from Fynta. Elara had occupied herself by dealing with the adoption company to buy more time so she could clear up this mess with Jorgan. She refused to believe that it was hopeless; they just needed a little more time.

"Captain Dorne." Elara looked up to find Jace Malcome's secretary standing in the doorway. Her throat constricted with the knowledge of what would follow. Everything relied on her reactions during the next five minutes. "The commander requests a meeting."

"Of course." Elara secured her holopads in a desk drawer and locked it. She knew better than to make conversation with the woman as they walked. It wasn't her style, so any deviations from the norm would raise eyebrows.

The woman, Elara knew her name but rarely used it, opened Malcom's door, and stepped aside. The pity in her dark eyes made Elara's stomach clench. She hated lying, even for a good reason. It didn't help that she was completely rubbish at it. The bile at the back of Elara's throat was real enough. She held onto that sensation to keep her reaction from seeming scripted.

"Elara," Malcom began, nodding towards a chair. Using first names indicated that he wanted to be viewed as sincere, possibly friendly. Elara painted a quizzical expression on her face to hide the apprehension building in the back of her mind. Mr. Hyllus had suggested that they go into this without a script so that her reaction would appear genuine. His only instruction was to find a strong emotion and amplify it. Elara had no idea how to do that, but had agreed. Fynta had faith in her ability to present a compelling show, she wouldn't let her friend down.

Once seated, Malcom shook his head. "I'm sorry, I wish that there was some other way to do this."

Without waiting, the commander turned his chair to reveal the full size image of a man that Elara had come to know well. Even with her familiarity, Vector Hyllus struck a primal chord in her. The man was handsome, with fine bone structure and the bearing of nobility, but it was his solid, black eyes that made her breath catch. No doubt this is why they assigned him to the task. Mr. Hyllus knew how to play on his alien features when needed, and had chosen the garb of Dawn Herald, rather than the upper class Imperial he normally presented.

"Hello, Mrs. Cormac," Vector began as any proper diplomat would. Elara wondered if Malcom knew that he was speaking with the husband of the dreaded Cipher Nine, or that Vector was an accomplished spy himself. One who had infiltrated the Republic blockade more than once. She pushed those thoughts aside. Now was not the time for distraction.

Sitting straighter, Elara replied, not bothering to correct that she was military or that she hadn't taken Balic's name. Cleverer people than herself had chosen the dialogue, all Elara could do was try to keep up. Malcom's eyes never strayed from her face, and she spared him what she hoped was a curious glance.

Vector's hands intertwined in front of him, voice strong and polite. "We regret that it is with grave news that we reach out to your government." He paused to take an adequately deep breath, and Elara marveled at the man's skill. Even without proper pupils, Vector's eyes bore the sadness of his task. "Sergeant Balic Cormac was killed in action two days ago. I'm not at liberty to divulge the details, only that he did not suffer."

Even expecting it, hearing the words delivered for the first time, slammed into like a charging rancor, stealing her breath. "I-I was told that he was on medical leave for another month." Her voice sounded convincingly hollow, flashing into the denial stage of grieving. It had been decided that flavoring her lies with the truth was the only way to convince them of her sorrow. "How was he killed in action?"

Balic had been giddy as a boy on Life Day when he told Elara of their plan. He was to be declared killed in action, severing all bonds with the Republic and freeing her from political scrutiny. Seeing the logic in a plan was a long way from carrying it out to success, however. Elara knew that Balic was alive and well, but she needed to believe that he was out of her reach forever, even if only long enough to get through this meeting.

"There were unforeseen circumstances that required his...expertise." Vector cleared his throat as if embarrassed. "The commander has been inconsolable and would rather place this call on her own, but she was called to aid an ally."

Elara stood, trying to summon all the fury of a woman betrayed. Visions of her husband's broken body overlapped those of men that she'd treated over the years. She saw his leg brace torn away, limbs twisted at odd angles. That image did the trick.

"Did Fynta let him go out there?" When Vector opened his mouth to respond, Elara cut him off. "I need to speak to her at once." Malcom's dark brow lifted in Elara's peripheral. It was an admission that she'd spoken with the commander of the Alliance without informing them. An omission brought into the light to save Balic's life.

"Apologies, that will not be possible, she's out of reach-"

"This is inexcusable," Elara interrupted, sounding convincingly panicked in her own ears. "I want an explanation as to why my husband was sent into battle while still recovering from horrific injuries. Fynta should know better. She should have considered-" Elara stopped mid-sentence, the words forming on her lips before her mind had finished processing them. Stick to the truth.

"No, of course, she didn't." Elara's hands fell limp by her sides. Unexpected anger welled in her chest. "She's never believed in her own mortality, why should anyone else's be different?"

Silence followed those broken words as tears threatened to spill down Elara's cheeks. While she realized that this conversation might be staged, a very real one just like it could take place tomorrow. Fynta had already vanished once, and what if something happened to Aric? They'd already lost most of Havoc Squad, mere children, to this war.

Swallowing, Elara sagged slowly to the chair, exhausted. This wasn't an act, the stakes were real, and each day ticked off another moment that she missed with her family. If any one of those reckless idiots were killed before she'd had a chance to hug them, Elara might not survive it. Only Tayl and Shillet kept her going as it was.

"Again," Vector said in a solemn tone. "You have the Alliance's deepest sympathies."

The holo cut, leaving Elara to face Malcom's regretful gaze. "I wish he had come home," the commander sighed. "You and your boy have been through so much already. If there is anything that we can do…"

"I'd like to get back to work, please," Elara answered, squaring her shoulders to hide the pain of pretending her husband was dead.

Malcom nodded, and Elara stood to leave. "Captain," he called, a hint of regret edging into his voice. "These people, they don't have your best interests at heart." Elara turned to face him, chin held high. Malcom wet his lips. "I'll overlook what I heard, but a gesture of goodwill would go a long way towards exonerating you in the Republic's sights."

It had worked. Elara wanted to laugh at the predictability of men who sat behind desks. She'd been burned by the Alliance, and thus must surely want revenge. Elara released an elongated breath, chin dipping as if she'd been swayed by his words "You'll have my report before the end of the week."

Malcom nodded, hiding his pleasure remarkably well. Elara excused herself, eyes forward until reaching her office, then calmly shut the door. It wasn't until she'd swept the room for listening devices that Elara collapsed into her chair and finally let the tears flow freely. Balic is alive, she repeated. And I am not as strong as I thought.

**Odessen**   
**Alliance Base**

Zolah stood to one side, cataloging the crates being unloaded from the ship. It was a beat up piece of junk that belonged to a Mirilain captain with a bad habit of drinking on the job. Zolah didn't understand why Hylo put up with such abysmal levels of debauchery, then reminded herself that their options were few. Individuals like Rossi were inevitable.

"Are you taking our advice?" Vector asked, appearing at Zolah's side like the wraith he'd become. Her implants had always intrigued him, and Vector had been all too willing to help her find their weaknesses. He tested them, hers and Theron's both, and delighted in finding some way to surprise them. There was an innocence to Vector's subterfuge that she'd lost decades ago.

"What advice would that be, darling?" Zolah responded in a sweet voice as she ticked off another item on the inventory sheet. Of course she knew what he meant, but the agent inside her couldn't help but push back whenever a possible flaw was scrutinized.

Vector chuckled and kissed her cheek. "We have not seen you down here in some time. Have you learned anything of value?"

Zolah huffed and ignored the question. Vector had been trying for weeks to lure her out of the war room to mingle with the rest of the base. He claimed that the pulse of their Alliance was shifting, and she needed to attune herself to its ever changing song. Zolah felt her time was better used in the ops room, crunching numbers and data. She had no need to understand the people unless it directly affected a mission.

Still, when Vector made a suggestion, it was unwise to ignore it. The man was suave and clever, if in a different way than herself. "We're three bottles short on sterilizing agent." Not that Zolah needed to look far to find them. "That is considered theft."

"It would be," Vector agreed. "Were it not for the spoken agreement with Fynta. Payment off the books for flying through Republic controlled sectors."

Zolah blinked, stunned for the first time in memory. "How do you know that?" It didn't surprise her that Fynta bartered under the table. Supplies were becoming more scarce, forcing pilots to venture into areas with heavier restrictions. Being caught on Rossi's run, with his cargo, carried a severe sentence.

Vector put a hand on Zolah's elbow to guide her out of the hangar. "We listen." As they walked the passages of the base, he pointed to various individuals, people that Zolah had never noticed before, and explained where they had come from. She stood in awe of the capacity for sentient interaction Vector managed without going insane.

Stopping, Zolah pulled her husband to the side and lowered her voice. "You know that I can't be that person." The mere thought of getting to know all of the inhabitants of the base the way that he had threatened to give her a migraine.

Vector offered the knowing smile that Zolah hated so much. Had it graced anyone else's face, she would have smacked it off of them. Being her husband came with a certain level of immunity. "We do not expect you to be." Zolah lifted a brow and crossed her arms. "We only want you to be aware."

Zolah started to protest, then closed her mouth. Perhaps Vector was right. She didn't have to socialize, but understanding who made up the Alliance would make assigning tasks easier, something more than words on a report. And, if Fynta wasn't against greasing a few palms to get results, Zolah was perfectly capable of that. "You might be onto something, love."

Before Vector could preen, his comm buzzed. Both looked at the pocket in his stately robes until it sounded again. "Odd." Zolah waved for him to retrieve the device, becoming impatient with the lack of momentum. She wanted to know who would call that frequency. The options were few, Theron being at the top.

Vector managed to answer before the call rolled over. Zolah felt her brows shoot skyward when a stern, blonde haired woman with a severe military bun appeared on the small device. "Captain Dorne," Vector breathed, clearly surprised to find her on his comm. "How may we assist?"

"It's imperative that I reach Major Jorgan or Fynta." The woman's accent surprised Zolah, though it shouldn't have. She'd met Elara Dorne years ago on Yavin, but the posh tone had become so foreign in the previous years that Zolah felt a pang of nostalgia for the Dromund Kaas she'd known as a girl. "I can't reach Balic, either."

"We can not speak as to the whereabouts of your husband, but Fynta and the major are engaged on Voss. That part of our conversation was not a lie." Vector glanced over Zolah's head, then nodded. "On second thought, we may know where Sergeant Cormac is."

Elara sighed, rubbing her temples to relieve whatever stress she could before squaring her shoulders. "I must speak to Jorgan before the end of the week. Please relay my message, Mr. Hyllus. I will be in your debt."

"Nonsense." Vector waved a hand, throwing away what Zolah considered to be an unbelievable opportunity. Elara was inside the Republic blockade. The amount of information she could provide the Alliance, and perhaps later, the Empire, was astounding. Better yet, she worked personally with Jace Malcom. Though a woman with her breeding might be insusceptible to blackmail, honor could be used against her.

"You have my thanks," Elara answered, posture relaxing marginally. Zolah doubted a less critical eye would have noticed. "If you happen across Balic, please tell him that I called."

Zolah heard the disappointment in the woman's voice, but took no pleasure in it. Of all the members of Havoc Squad, Balic Cormac was the least unlikeable. He stayed out of the way, displayed table manners, and didn't snarl or drink himself into a stupor. Zolah sighed at how far her standards had fallen.

Vector ended the call, then pocketed his comm and kissed Zolah's cheek. "Where are you going?" She asked when he started down the hall.

"The creche," Vector replied, pausing only long enough to smile over his shoulder. "The sergeant turns his comm off to avoid waking sleeping younglings."

"Of course he does," Zolah grumbled as she watched her husband retreat. She couldn't contain a sense of smug satisfaction in her choice of partner. Though Zolah would never emulate Vector's natural ability to connect to people, she could gather information. That was close enough to building a relationship. It's how she began with Vector and Theron, and that had worked out well enough.

Turning on her heel, Zolah started for the security room. It had been too long since she'd exercised her intelligence skill for more than data analyzing. It was time to stop searching the stars, and focus on what lay beneath the layers of diversity at home.


	2. Wins and Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things never go quite as planned in war, and secrets rarely help.

**Odessen  
Alliance Base  
**

"Congrats, vod. You're dead." Fynta sat in a narrow backed chair, hands working on controls that Balic couldn't see, while Theron shouted orders from somewhere behind her.

Cormac grinned at his old friend. He'd known this call was coming from the moment that Vector concluded his report to the Republic military. Now that the gears were in motion, they'd be able to move forward with the next part of the plan. Balic would see his family soon. This would work. It _had_ to work.

"Glad to hear it, boss," Cormac stamped down the desire to join Fynta on the battlefield. He'd been given permission to move around with the leg brace that Oggurrobb had created, but no one could say when he'd fight again. "How long until my grieving widow comes to claim my remains?" Everything they'd done had been so he could see Elara and Tayl again.

"Working on that part," Fynta answered as she pulled back, then cackled like a madwoman. Theron complained in the background, teetering into the shot before vanishing out the other side with a curse. Cormac was about to ask what was going on when Fynta swore. "Fierfek. Gotta go."

The call cut out just as Cormac turned a corner that led back up to the main base. The conversation made him miss the action and adrenaline rush, the feeling of being a part of something greater than himself. Balic shook his head and reminded himself that he wasn't useless yet, even if he couldn't be in the field.

Cormac had used his ample free time to help in the creche. The influx of support for the Alliance brought larger numbers of children, too. Noara, the little Jedi that Fynta adopted, had drafted him when she was short handed one day. Balic had needed something to keep his mind from slipping into brooding. If he stopped smiling, it would be too difficult to start again. Cormac was a firm believer in the healing power of laughter, and a lot of people in the Alliance needed that boost.

The kids were great, but Cormac missed the old days of brotherhood. His new life lacked the sense of purpose he'd gained from rushing through a hail of blaster bolts with a single objective in mind. Cormac sighed and made the final climb towards his quarters, squashing those thoughts before they could drag him down.

Balic nodded to a familiar engineer as he passed. He couldn't recall the man's name, but knew that he'd remember later. They had shared a few beers not long ago. Just sitting at the same bar and ended up talking. He'd spoken about Elara and Tayl, bragging on his family the way any man should, and Lance─.

_Lance_ , Balic snapped his fingers with a grin, that was the man's name. He'd mentioned a son too. One who still fought for the Republic in a war that no one believed in, against trifling enemies compared to the Eternal Empire. Lance's wife had passed some years ago, but he'd found a new lady on Odessen who he was trying to gather the courage to approach. Balic wondered if the man ever had.

The comm in Balic's pocket vibrated, and he fished it out with one hand. "Cormac here."

"Sergeant." Vector Hyllus gazed up from Cormac's palm. He was a decent man, a little odd, but Cormac liked him. Vector had ferried messages to and from Elara and kept them appraised of her condition. She would never admit to Balic how hard things were, so he'd been forced to outsource to Imperial spies. "We have spoken with your wife, she wishes a word with you."

Cormac's good mood sank beneath a torrent of fear. "Is she alright?" Shaking the question off, Balic switched gears. "Thanks, mate, I'll call her straight away."

Disconnecting the call without a farewell, Cormac hurried to his room. He couldn't call Elara in the middle of the hallway with so many people around. No one else knew that she was slipping them information, and he wouldn't do anything that put her at risk.

The leg brace made running more difficult, but Cormac managed. He'd had one on each leg last week, along with a support on his hips to aid with walking. After his skin turned wrinkly in kolto tanks, the medics had moved Cormac down to just the one. He wished the damn had more flex so that he didn't look like a newborn rancor learning how to walk for the first time.

Finally reaching his room, Cormac rummaged under the cushions for the encrypted holo and dialed Elara. Her perfect face filling his vision banished the panic that had tightened his gut. "Hey, doll. Heard that I missed your call."

"I was worried," Elara admitted, her image expanding to reveal a woman who'd changed into more comfortable clothing after arriving home from work. She wore one of his sweaters, the SpecForce one that Fynta had special ordered because the quartermaster didn't carry his size. Seeing her there, with hair down and settled into her favorite chair, made a knot rise in Balic's throat. Damn, he missed that woman. "How are you?"

Cormac followed Elara's lead, lowering himself to the sofa and casting a look at the door to make sure that it was locked. "Doing good, I was down in the creche with the younglings. Service is shit there, so I left this one at home. Won't happen again."

Elara lifted a hand with a tight smile. "It's fine. Malcom released me from work early, and I needed to speak with you. Being told that you were dead was...more traumatic than expected."

"I'm here, doll. Hale and mostly whole." Elara forced a tight smile, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread in the blanket on her lap. Balic studied his wife, noting dark circles that the blue hues of her holo couldn't hide. "What's on your mind? Take a moment to unburden yourself, let me feel useful."

Elara tangled the thread around her fingers, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Cormac wanted to prompt her to continue, but knew better. She'd get it out in time, Elara rarely spoke before sorting her thoughts. Balic used the time to memorize her features, the sharp angles that spoke of high birth and supple lines of her lips. Had it really been almost a year since he'd last held her?

"I've kept something from you," Elara finally admitted, voice quiet and eyes averted. "From all of you."

"I'm sure you had your reasons," Cormac started, then stopped when her frown intensified. "What is it?"

Elara scowled at the blanket a moment longer. "I intercepted a message meant for Major Jorgan, not intentionally, but it bore some startling news." Cormac nodded, though his stomach had begun to cramp again. Elara never beat around the bush, whatever was in that message had her noticeably upset.

Letting out a long breath, Elara plunged ahead. "The Republic has revoked Aric's parental rights. They are reclaiming custody of Shillet." Cormac sat in stunned silence for so long that Elara stood and went to the kitchen to make tea. Her movements were jerky and as close to slamming cabinet doors as he'd ever seen her.

Cormac's chest felt too tight to breath, the fear that everything was falling to pieces again crept up the back of his neck. "Can they do that," he finally managed to ask.

Elara returned to her chair, cup nestled in both hands, but she didn't lift it to her mouth. "I've exhausted every avenue, and there isn't a lawyer in the system that will touch her case." Her shaky voice sounded on the verge of tears. "Now, I fear that I've waited too long to tell Aric."

Cormac sat forward, his instinct to make everything better taking over before he could beat it down. "How long do we have left?" While Jorgan might be on the girl's certificate, Havoc had raised Shillet as a team. If one lost her, they all did. Another thought jumped into Balic's mind, Tayl would be crushed. "Do the kids know?"

Elara shook her head before answering. "Seventeen days. It's time that I confessed my omission to the major. Do you know when he'll return?"

Throat tight, Cormac tried and failed to swallow. Seventeen days. His skin felt hot, like patches of fire racing up his neck and face. "They are on Voss trying to find Arcann. Who knows how long it'll take." The urge to do something, anything, overwhelmed Cormac to the point that he almost hung up on Elara to seek out answers. He forced himself to stay rooted to the cushion. "You've got to tell her, doll. The girl needs to prepare herself."

"I know," Elara admitted. "Lying is more difficult when it is to those you care for."

There were times when Cormac forgot how wonderfully different his wife's brain worked. He'd been away too long and forgotten the simple joy of watching Elara sort through everyday dilemmas. Lying was easy for everyone else, but Elara had to force it. Her shoulders sagged. "I'm afraid of how she will react."

Cormac leaned forward to touch his wife before remembering that he couldn't. "Tell her that we'll make it work. Now that Fynta's back, she won't let anything happen to Shillet."

They sat in silence for a bit, each lost to their own thoughts, until Elara sighed. "Tayl will be home soon, and I've kept this line open for too long."

Cormac hated this part, saying goodbye without knowing when he'd hear from her again. "Maybe we can talk later, I'd love to say hey to him."

A slight smile broke through Elara's misery, illuminating her features and breathing life back into the woman wilting under too much stress. "He would love that." She hesitated, toying with the loose string again. "Please keep me updated on Fynta and Aric's ETA."

"Of course, love," Cormac responded. "I'll talk to you soon. I love you, and the kids. Make sure that they know, okay?"

"I will." The familiar weight of emptiness pressed on Cormac when Elara's image vanished. He looked around the spartan room and sighed. Balic missed the laughter and noise that came from having a family. Of Tayl and Shillet running down the hall while Jorgan fussed at them about not breaking things. He wanted to arm wrestle with Xaban, or watch Abbeth scold Torg about leaving his laundry out.

Most of Cormac's memories from the Spire were hazy, and he thought that might be for the best. Better to live with the fond memories of their lives than the guilt that haunted Jorgan. Cormac pushed those thoughts from his mind before doing the same to his body. It took a lot more effort than he liked to lever his mass off the sofa, but when he finally did, an idea struck.

There was more than one person on this base who might have the kind of pull to set things right for Shillet. Cormac just had to find them. His shoulders straightened with purpose, and his mood lifted at the prospect of having a mission again. With luck, he could have a plan in the works by the time Fynta and Aric got home.

**Voss  
** **North Plateau**

Jorgan ducked behind a smoking speeder, reappeared in sync with his soldiers, and peppered the wave of advancing Skytroopers. With each line they slagged, another took its place. Scattered across the plateau, Jorgan marked the whirling, colorful blades of Sith and Jedi as they battled at close range. He had fifteen Force users in his count, but others had come to their aid when the battle raged hotter than expected.

Dropping back to check his ammo, Aric noticed the flashing light in the corner of his HUD. Relief washed over him at the sight of Fynta's icon. "Jorgan," he answered before peeking over his shelter to pick off targets that had broken away from the main group. His rifle whined with a build up of pressure before expelling the bolt with enough force to tear through a target three hundred yards down range.

"Hey, riduur, how are you holding up?" Fynta's voice filled Jorgan's helmet, bolstering his energy. He'd give anything to have a visual, but he couldn't afford the distraction.

An explosion echoed over the comm from Fynta's side before Aric could answer, causing his finger to stutter on the trigger. "What was that?"

"See that line of walkers?" Fynta asked. Jorgan risked standing taller to spy a row of small, dark figures advancing up the hill. They'd cut across his troops on their current heading. "Look to the east."

Jorgan did as commanded, jaw going slack. "Is that─" He magnified the image, momentarily distracted from the battle raging around him. A pale grey walker stomped towards the line, crushing everything in its path and loosing random volleys of artillery on the surrounding Skytroopers. Fynta's diabolical chuckle followed each explosion.

Jorgan watched the spectacle until the persistent tapping on his leg plate reminded him that they were in the middle of a firefight. Dropping into a squat, Aric didn't bother disguising the amusement in his voice. "Who the hell let you behind the stick of a tactical walker?"

"Torian," Fynta answered with a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that Verin had something to do with it. Theron doesn't approve."

Jorgan opened his mouth to suggest something unkind for the spy when a bolt punched through the chassis of the speeder. He returned fire and settled for a gruff retort. "Don't have too much fun without me."

"Hey," Fynta's voice dropped an octave, even if her volume didn't. "Do you remember that little guest house?"

"How could I forget?" Voss had been the first time that Jorgan and Fynta shared a room outside of the _Thunderclap_. He and Cormac had switched out each night after the others went to bed. Yuun almost caught the Cathar once when he was too slow to get up the following morning, then they'd realized that no one in Havoc squad cared how they spent their free time. Voss held a lot of fond memories, and knowing that Fynta still remembered them made the moment more poignant.

"Think it's still standing?" Fynta asked with a suggestive pause.

Jorgan smirked, sighting up on a battle droid trying to flank Fynta's walker. "We should check once this mess is sorted." He squeezed the trigger and watched the droid self-destruct.

"Deal," Fynta answered with a sly laugh. "Alright, walkers and battle captains have been cleared. I'll leave you to mop up. Be careful riduur—fierfek."

"Fynta?" Jorgan's heart seized when her feed cut out, leaving him with only garbled gibberish for several paralyzing seconds. When it picked up again, it was with a string of Mando'a that was probably accompanied by creative hand gestures. Aric willed his pulse to kick start. "What happened?"

Theron muttered something in the background that Jorgan couldn't pick out, and Fynta sounded like she'd run three klicks when she answered. "Big walker blocking my path. Chakaar. Time to see what this baby can do. Wish me luck." The comm in Jorgan's helmet clicked to warn that he'd lost the call. He peeked over the speeder to see what else he could vent his frustration on when a heavy weight thumped into the dirt next to him, pulling Jorgan's attention away from the battle.

"Sir." The woman who belonged to that voice could have been anyone. Jorgan didn't recognize her nameplate, though the insignia was Republic Armed Forces. "Wellingford's been hit. He's asking for you."

_Shit._ Wellingford was one of Aygo's men, an old friend on loan as Jorgan's XO for the assault. Nodding for the woman to lead the way, Jorgan followed at a squat while blaster bolts pocked the landscape around them. The man was propped in the shade of a broken building, helmet set to the side while a young soldier knelt next to him.

Jorgan positioned himself on the opposite side so as not to impede the medic and took the man's hand. His grey hair was stained by blood, though Jorgan couldn't see the origin. Wellingford winced. "Sir, we got intelligence, I—" He hissed when the medic pressed a hand against his left side. Jorgan noted a disturbing amount of blood leaking between the gloved fingers.

With his free hand, Jorgan removed his helmet so that Wellingford would see more than an expressionless visor in his final moments. It was a lesson he'd learned from Fynta. One that he'd taken to heart long before they'd fallen into bed together.

Wellingford swallowed, took a slow breath, then nodded towards the charred form that might have been humanoid. "Gerald heard it a moment before they hit us. Vaylin's got a new weapon. Voss...is—" His breathing became erratic, eyes squeezing tight enough to push tears from their corners. Then, his fingers went limp in Jorgan's hand. Aric didn't need the medic's resigned head shake to know that it was too late. Wellingford had done his duty until the end.

Jorgan sighed and looked to the soldiers gathered around. "Any idea what he was talking about?"

No one responded. Jorgan reached for his helmet, pausing when the medic tipped his face shield towards the sky. Jorgan mirrored the move when a shadow fell over them. Standing, Aric found himself staring at the bottom of a massive ship riding too low in Voss's atmosphere.

"Vaylin's flagship." Jorgan wasn't sure how he knew, or even who he was speaking to, but the two, oversized cannons mounted beneath it were large enough to be seen without magnification. They swung around and aimed towards the plateau. Wellingford's warning rang like an alarm in the back of Jorgan's mind. He needed to move.

Time slowed as Jorgan's gaze took in the troops scattered across the killing field. Visions of losing Havoc in the Spire rose to the surface, smothering the order to retreat. He found the words at the same moment that the cannons convulsed. The ground lifted beneath his feet, then he heard the explosion.

**Coruscant**  
 **Residential Sector  
** **Apartment 7865**

Shillet kicked her dresser as she stomped across the room, fists clenched at her side. A soft knock followed the sound after a moment, but the girl ignored it. Everything outside that door was a lie, everything that she'd been promised for years had been ripped away, and no one bothered to warn her. They'd all lied to her. Stupid adults.

"Shillet, darling please speak to me." Elara's smooth accent didn't ease the pounding in Shillet's chest. She'd always looked at the former Imperial as a mother figure, the one woman who would never turn her away. It didn't matter that this wasn't her choice, Elara had _given up_. Shillet wasn't supposed to have to worry about going into the system, not after Aric had signed the paperwork to make her legally his daughter.

"Go away." The words were shouted through tears and hatred that Shillet didn't understand. She was angry because they were going to take her away. It wasn't Elara's fault, but who else could she yell at? Aric was parsecs away, fighting a war to save the galaxy. Balic had been wounded and was just as far out of reach. The others were—Shillet swallowed and made herself finish the thought. The others were dead.

Elara's shoes clicked against the hard wood as she retreated. Fear swelled inside Shillet, amplifying the isolation creeping in. She was going into the system, sent to live with strangers who might despise her. Or maybe a home for cast offs like herself. No one wanted a troubled youth with an aggression warning in her school file. She'd never see Tayl again. Who'd look after him at school? Frantic thoughts chased themselves around in her mind until Shillet thought she'd be sick.

There had to be a way to stop this. She'd run away, steal some credits while everyone slept and use the skills that she'd learned from Aleksei to hitch a ride to Odessen. She'd planned it out once before but had lost her nerve at the last minute. She was older now, practically an adult, she could do this.

Shillet snatched her satchel from beneath the bed and started throwing clothes into it. She packed a first aid kit, feeling more prepared by being mature enough to consider it. Maybe she could bribe smugglers to get her as far as Wild Space. Surely the people out there would know where to find Odessen. They'd try to take advantage and swindle her, but Shillet would pack a holdout blaster. She knew blaster safety and had been to the range countless times with Havoc. She could protect herself.

_Or, maybe Aric will come get you._

Shillet set the shirt down on her pack, then lowered onto the bed beside it. Her father would come for her, right? He'd promised that finding his wife didn't change anything between them. If Shillet told him what was happening, he would solve all her problems.

Snatching her comm, Shillet dialed Aric's frequency. It rang for what felt like forever, giving clarity time to bleed back into fear. When he didn't answer, Shillet hung up and dialed again. This was an emergency, she'd just keep calling until he realized it. By the third try, Aric would understand that something was wrong. He'd answer no matter what.

Five attempts later, it finally registered with Shillet that something had to be keeping Aric from answering. Panic tightened her stomach. Had he been captured? Killed? Maybe he did know and couldn't bear to tell her that he wasn't coming back, so he ignored her.

_They'll expect him to come for me_ , Shillet realized when the call rolled to voicemail again. This could all be a trap to lure her father back to the Republic where he would be sentenced to death for desertion and treason.

The call chimed that Shillet could speak her message. She started to hang up, but stopped with her finger over the command. Aric couldn't come back, and they both knew it. If this was a conscious decision, it would tear him apart. Shillet wouldn't let him carry that guilt. On the off chance that he didn't know, she wanted to make sure that he understood how much she'd cherished their time together.

"Hi dad," Shillet began, slumping under the finality of her decision. "You're probably busy, so don't worry about calling me back. I just wanted to check in and say—" she swallowed, worried that he might hear the catch in her voice. "Just, thanks for everything. You're the best father any girl could ask for. I love you."

Shillet hung up before tears could make themself heard. Too long and he'd be suspicious anyway, or she'd ramble and ruin the moment. Shillet tucked the comm into her pack, then slid the entire thing under her bed. She wouldn't run, she'd stay and make her father proud.

Shillet's courage wavered, opening the way for an overwhelming need for a mother's comfort and the feel of protective arms around her. It might be the last time she had that option. Standing, Shillet palmed open the door and started for the kitchen where Elara's kettle whistled. The woman wiped quickly at her eyes when Shillet rounded the corner. The idea of such a strong woman shedding tears for her cracked whatever resolve Shillet had managed and she dissolved into sudden, choking sobs.

Elara's arms surrounded Shillet faster than she'd have thought possible. The woman hummed a gentle tune, stroking Shillet's head tresses while ignoring the moisture that soaked through her shirt. When Shillet felt like she'd cried her last, Elara cupped her cheeks and looked her in the eyes. "No matter what, I will get you back. Understand?"

Shillet nodded and tried to look away, but Elara caught her chin. "That means no foolishness. I need to know where you are when the time comes."

The urge to grin at someone knowing her so well almost drove Shillet's misery away, but the feeling was fleeting. Elara's tone gentled. "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?" She did, but Shillet couldn't admit to that. She needed to get used to being on her own, but instead of declining, Shillet's accepting nod betrayed her. Elara smiled. "Very well. Go change and prepare for bed. I'll get your pillows. Shall we invite Tayl and stay up late?"

"Yeah." Shillet wiped the back of her sleeve across her nose. "With snacks and movies."

"Deal." As Elara pulled away, Shillet understood that the woman wasn't _like_ a mother at all, she _was_ her mother. With that revelation came the security of knowing that this separation wouldn't last forever. Somehow, Elara would find a way to regain custody. Surely, Aric would help.

Thoughts of running away felt suddenly foolish in the aftermath of such unconditional love. Shillet had parents who cared about her, however strangely they fit together. She would get through this, just one more bad memory in a lifetime of loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote: If you're new to the story, more details about Havoc's exploits on Voss can be found in Family is more than Blood, chapter 27 &28.


	3. Breaking the Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trials lie ahead, and Aric gains some ground in an old argument.

**Voss  
** **Shrine of Healing**

Theron rubbed both hands down his face in frustration while Lana and Fynta argued over their next steps. The entire mission had been a massive cluster fuck from start to finish. Senya was still unconscious, Voss lay in ruins, and Arcann had escaped. If there was a worse way to end the day, Theron couldn’t imagine it.

_At least we managed to turn Vaylin back,_ Theron thought. Though, not before she torched half the planet. The major cities had been reduced to rubble and the forests cast plumes of smoke into the air high enough to be seen for miles. The once beautiful world would take decades to recover. _But the Voss and Gormack are finally working together._ Okay, that wasn't bad. 

Theron’s back pocket vibrated, and for a moment, he felt a thrill of hope that Zolah or Vector was contacting him. He could use one of Vector’s motivational chats or a dose of Zolah’s biting humor. “What the—” Theron ran the unknown frequency through his encryption program, then blinked in confusion at the readout. “Uh, Fynta?”

“What,” the woman snapped in a way that led Theron to believe that she was losing the argument with Lana. 

Theron ignored Fynta’s acerbic tone. “I’ve got an incoming call from the Sith fleet.” When her brow rose, he emphasized the next words so that she would pay attention. “It’s _Empress Acina_.”

“Osikla,” Fynta spat as Theron forwarded the call to the T-5 unit stationed at the base camp. 

Acina had taken charge of the Sith Empire and kept it from tearing itself apart in the vacuum left by Vitiate’s departure. The woman flickered into existence, hands clasped behind her back and garbed full battle gear. Theron moved to Fynta’s side, staring at the image in mute astonishment. Lana smirked and raised one hand to mime pushing Fynta’s jaw shut when the commander didn’t manage a witty greeting either.

“Greetings, Commander.” Acina sounded cheerful, an emotion Theron would never have attributed to a Sith seven years ago. She spoke with the same amusement that often colored Lana’s voice, carrying a warm smile with the words. “It is an honor to finally speak to you.”

“Uh, right.” Fynta shook herself, then glanced at the sky where the Alliance and Imperial fighters were picking off the remnants of Vaylin’s fleet. “Thanks for the assist, your timing couldn’t have been better.”

Acina tipped her head in that regal way Imperials had. “I hope this is the beginning of a mutually beneficial relationship between the Empire and your Alliance.” The empress rolled her shoulders, slipping into negotiations with an ease that Theron admired. “The Sith are tired of being crushed under the Eternal Empire’s boot. We wish to join your cause.”

Theron had to hand it to the Empress; she’d done her homework on the way to gain Fynta’s respect. Acina didn’t waste time with platitudes or compliments. Instead, she admitted a shortfalling, then suggested a remedy like a soldier. Theron made a mental note to research the woman’s previous occupations before she earned the title that made her the most powerful Sith in the Empire. 

Fynta stood with her legs shoulder width apart and arms folded, eying Acina. “Are the Sith really up to taking orders from the former commander of Havoc Squad?” Theron felt a strange thrill travel through him at the reminder that Fynta had regained all of her memories. She had become the steadfast leader that he’d known on Rishi, shedding the uncontrollable chaos from before Havoc’s influence.

Acina didn’t hesitate. “We will follow anyone strong enough to defeat Vaylin.” Theron ticked another point in the Empress’s favor. She’d used all the right phrasing when speaking to a Mandalorian. “I am proposing an alliance of two, independent powers against a common foe.” A smirk tried to worm onto Theron’s face, but he beat it down. Vector would be proud of this woman. She tipped her hat to a stronger force without diminishing what her empire could offer. It was beautifully woven.

After that, a few details remained to be ironed out. Fynta, Lana, and Theron would travel to Dromund Kaas at their earliest convenience to brunch with Acina. Plans would be made, resources shared, and treaties signed. It was all very civilized, not at all what Theron had become used to. 

Fynta scowled, nodding at the suggestions offered by Lana and Acina. She looked older than Theron remembered, the weight of having the galaxy on her shoulders taking its toll. He realized that this war would finally his friend in the end. Theron decided that he couldn’t let that happen, not after all that Fynta had sacrificed already. Of course, he’d never let her know that he felt that way: he’d never hear the end of it. 

The call ended, and Fynta clapped her hands. “I hear Dromund Kaas is nice this time of year.” 

Theron saw the ghost of a smile on Lana’s lips before she managed to press it from existence. He couldn’t fault her at being pleased to have a way back home. Even if that home was a swampy storm of dark fury. “Pack a raincoat.”

Now that the adrenaline from battle and the shock from Acina’s truce were wearing off, Theron wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a private place to update Zolah of the most recent events. He rolled his head to relieve some of the tension that had settled in his shoulders during the encounter and sighed. “Guess it couldn’t hurt to visit.” Lana’s smirk grew into a full smile while Fynta squeezed the bridge of her nose.

An alliance with anyone, even Sith, would be better than how things stood now. Soldiers and civilian resources needed to be fed and housed, and Odessen was quickly reaching the red on both. Maybe Theron could get some decent intel to use as bartering material if he decided to return to the Republic. Of course, that would mean leaving Zolah and Vector behind. He veered from that line of thought before it took him down a path he wasn’t ready to contemplate. He still hadn’t given them an answer about roughing it in Wild Space as a permanent solution.

“I’m curious to see if things have really changed,” Lana added with a wistful note. The woman hadn’t been home for nearly as long as Theron, and she suffered a similar problem. Notiac wasn’t likely to turn Sith, and he didn’t think that Lana was ready to give her Jedi up. Theron entertained himself briefly with the thought of Acina and Notiac reaching an agreement on how best to share Lana, then shuddered when those unchecked thoughts went in a direction that he didn’t want to.

Theron opened his mouth to change the subject, but the sound of approaching boots and an unfamiliar voice cut him off. “Commander.” 

Fynta turned towards the soot covered medic jogging in their direction. He looked like he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks, and heavy circles under his eyes proved that sleep was a distant memory. When the man reached normal volume distance, he slowed and waved for Fynta to follow. “I need you to come with me, Commander. Major Jorgan has been injured.”

The color drained from Fynta’s face as she lurched forwards two steps then turned back. “I’ll handle the cleanup, see to your husband,” Lana assured her before shoving Theron between the shoulder blades. “Go look after her.” 

The last that Theron heard, Jorgan had been holding the Northern Plateau. He barked orders with all the confidence expected of a veteran with nearly twenty years of combat experience, and—oh shit. 

Against his will, Theron’s gaze shifted towards the smoking wreckage that had once been the Northern Plateau. He hadn’t considered where those black pillars originated, only that Vaylin had done a number on the planet.

Theron slid into a gutted building behind Fynta, nostrils burning from the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with burnt flesh. His stomach rolled, but Theron made himself look at the carnage. “Where are all these from?”

“All over,” the medic answered. “Mostly the plateau. We’ve still got teams sifting through the wreckage. This way, Commander.”

A man in Theron’s position rarely saw this side of the battle. He’d never been a frontline soldier. Sure, he’d watched it on screens projected from the armor cameras while conducting an op, even been involved in a few small scale skirmishes, but nothing on this scale. The visceral reality nearly made him run for the exit.

Fynta and the medic carried on like death didn’t surround them. Theron knew that they recognized the carnage, and found himself horrified that anyone could become desensitized to this level of suffering. But then, that’s why he’d risked Fynta’s anger to bring Havoc Squad back, so that she wouldn’t have to do it alone. Force knew Fynta never talked to anyone else, not about the things that mattered. Having Zolah and Vector in his life had taught Theron the value of a proper support system. He wondered occasionally how he’d survived so long alone.

“Through here, sir.” The medic lifted the sheet that acted as a barrier between beds to provide a modicum of privacy. 

Fynta entered ahead of Theron and sucked in a sharp breath. “Fierfek, Aric, what happened?” By the time Theron made it through, she knelt with both hands on the major’s legs.

Jorgan hunched on the bed. Something that Theron hoped was mud caked the fur on the right side of his face and neck. Scratches and dings marked his armor, along with globs of earth that clung to every crevice they could find. A rag covered most of the Cathar’s face, but the amount of red staining it suggested a head wound. Theron hoped that most of the haggard look would wash off; they couldn’t afford to lose Jorgan now.

“Got caught in a blast.” Jorgan winced, reaching for Fynta’s hand and missing. “The doctor ran some preliminary scans.” He caught her fingers on the second try. “Just waiting on the results.” 

Theron busied himself with the mud covering his jacket, trying not to witness the Cathar’s moment of weakness. Fynta rose and lifted the rag. Theron guessed by her grimace that she didn’t like what she found. “I told them not to bother you,” Aric grumbled when she replaced the cloth.

“You see who they fear more,” Fynta answered in the deadpan tone that spoke of an old argument. Then, she slapped his shoulder. “Stop ordering my people not to bother me when you need something.” 

Theron pressed his lips tighter to avoid showing any sign that he’d overheard. The curtain shifted, admitting a small woman in her mid to late fifties who didn’t bother to check her path. She frowned at the datapad in her hands, expecting the flow of traffic to shift around her. Theron realized that she wasn’t wrong as he stepped to the side. 

“It’s not great news,” the doctor summarized, looking up from the device. “But, it’s not life threatening. At least, not in the immediate sense.”

The woman shooed Fynta away, seemingly unaware that she’d just dismissed the commander of the Alliance, and stepped in front of Jorgan. Even with his body positioned on the table, the medic barely reached his eye. “You’ve got the standard bumps and bruises that we’d expect after a close proximity explosion. That’s not something I’d make a habit of, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Gnarled fingers pressed beneath the Cathar’s chin as she spoke.

Apparently satisfied that Jorgan’s lymph nodes were operational, the doctor reached for the cloth over his face. She pulled apart the edges of the gash above Jorgan’s right eye and leaned closer. The Cathar squeezed his lips together in discomfort. “It’ll need to be closed, but it’s not a priority.” She pulled a pen light from her vest and flicked it on. “Okay, major, follow the light.”

Theron folded his arms, waiting for the all clear so that he could shuttle Fynta off this planet and on to the next. He assumed that Jorgan would be accompanying them since the pair had been nearly inseparable since Fynta’s memories had returned. Not that Theron blamed them; six years was a long time to catch up on. 

Theron had pulled out his datapad to begin making arrangements when the doctor spoke again. “Major, can you see the light?” Theron’s scalp tightened as he looked up, gaze locking on Fynta’s. Primal fear filled her eyes, the image more unsettling than all the wounded bodies around them combined.

“I see it.” Jorgan hesitated, brow furrowing at the object in the doctor’s hand. “It’s blurry though, like looking through water.”

The doctor nodded, and loose, grey strands fell free from her bun. “Good.” After tucking the light into her vest pocket, the woman picked up her datapad and spoke without looking up. “The pressure from the blast might have damaged your optic nerve. We’ve seen a lot of this recently. Your helmet can’t protect you from the weapons that Vaylin uses. You’ll need a proper scan when you reach Odessen, but I’m not overly worried.” 

Using her finger, the doctor signed her name to something before looking up. “Be sure to follow up with the physicians, Major. While a common injury, it shouldn’t be ignored.”

Jorgan lifted the rag again when blood trickled into his eye. “What kind of window are we looking at for normal sight?” It hadn’t occurred to Theron before that moment that Jorgan’s eyesight was essential to his position as a sniper.

“It depends,” the woman answered. Her tone wasn’t as gruff as before, but not gentle either. “Surgery is a possibility, or it could heal on its own. Only time will tell, and I don’t have the equipment available to speculate. My job is to keep you from dying, so…” the doctor held out her arms. “Goal accomplished. A nurse will be around shortly to close that wound, then I suggest that you were on your way.”

Turning on her heel, the doctor came face to face with Theron. She scowled until Theron stepped out of her way, then stormed into the fray of medical chaos hidden behind Jorgan’s privacy curtain.

Theron turned to comment on the woman’s foul mood, but stopped short. Fynta and Jorgan were staring at one another, locked in a silent conversation that looked more intimate than Theron wanted to witness. 

“I’ll wait outside.” Theron ducked into the open waiting area, trying not to see the suffering around him. His thoughts drifted back to Zolah and Vector, wondering if they ever did things like Fynta and Aric’s telepathic communication. The memory of his last argument with Zolah via smuggler’s cant brought a smile to Theron’s face.

A pleasant sensation spread through Theron at the thought of the two Imperial spies. Looking over his shoulder, he decided that he had enough time to contact Zolah and Vector before leaving for Dromund Kaas. They needed to be updated anyway. He was just being prudent.

**_The Gravestone_  
** **Commander’s Quarters  
** **En Route to Dromund Kaas**

_Valkorian’s laughter echoed in the dark recesses of Fynta’s mind. Visions flitted behind her eyelids: the flash of an explosion outside her shuttle as it hurtled toward the ground, Voss aflame, death and chaos overlaid with Senya’s prone body. Then, Arcann disappearing into the clouds._

“ _You nearly had him,” Valkorion whispered. The scene solidified with Arcann on the deck of a shuttle, scarred face contorted with fear and sorrow, almost childlike without the mask that he’d hidden behind for so long. Fynta tried to convince him that his mother was alive, that they could be allies, anything to sow seeds of doubt so that she could get closer._

_Aric’s curse rang through Fynta’s memory. Arcann was gone, nothing more than a black dot on the horizon. Fynta turned to find her husband’s furious glare angled towards her instead of the sky. His eyes burned with rage, the right glowing bright red before popping to ooze down his cheek._

_Aric jabbed a finger at Fynta, seemingly oblivious to the gore matting his fur, while she couldn’t focus on anything else. “You let him escape.” The growled words barely registered before he shoved past. “Get it together before we’ve got to bury this entire, fucking Alliance beside Havoc Squad.”_

Pain shredded the dream and Fynta woke with a gasp. Movement brought the throb of a migraine but without the sensory overload. It was too quiet, too dark. Turning her head, Fynta sought comfort in her husband only to realize the bed was empty. Despite the agony, she sat up, searching for signs of Aric in the room. Valkorion’s low chuckle blended with the frantic pounding of her heart. 

Fynta opened her mouth to call out for Aric, but the words stuck in her throat. Old insecurities bubbled to the surface. Valkorion amplified them, bringing each into the light. Aric had left, fed up with Fynta’s failings and finally decided that he was better off without her. What had Fynta done for the man, after all? She’d made his life hell, ruined his career from the first day, then gave him the hope of a lifelong companion only to abandon him to loneliness. Then, she forgot him. Leaving her would be no more than she deserved.

Fynta searched the room in case she was wrong. The fresher door was open, but the light was off. She let a trembling hand settle on the cold sheets where her husband should have been. Her chest tightened, making breathing almost too difficult. Tears burned the back of Fynta’s eyes as her fingers tangled through the loose strands of her hair. She’d failed again, missed what could have been her last chance to bring Arcann to justice. Vaylin still tantrumed across the galaxy, and Valkorion…

“Fierfek,” Fynta gasped, pulling her knees up and pressing her forehead against them. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted her breaths, and forced them in through her nose and out through her mouth.

Each breath brought a modicum of relief, bringing her thoughts under control. Aric’s scent, like the forest after a heavy rain, still clung to the sheet draped across her knees. It reminded her of the nights that his presence had soothed whatever dark thing lurked in her heart. Cathar didn’t abandon their mates, he’d be back. Fynta knew it.

Warmth spread through Fynta’s back and she focused on that point of contact. She barely choked off a sob as familiar fingers slid higher to caress the back of her neck. “Want to talk about it?” Aric’s lowered voice sent a shiver through Fynta. She’d almost believed Valkorion this time. It made her long for the days when these dreams were nothing more than vague recollections. Retaining the memory of his psychological torture was much worse. Fynta felt like she was losing her mind. 

Fynta unfolded and crawled into her husband’s lap as he lowered onto the bed. Her grip was too tight around Aric’s neck but he didn’t complain. Strong arms encircled Fynta in an embrace that made her feel strong; invincible. She took a shaky breath before leaning back. “Where did you go?”

Aric studied Fynta’s face, pushing hair out of the way so that she couldn’t hide behind it. He wore a rough, fabric patch over his right eye, a safeguard from light sensitivity and anything else the field medic might have missed. Fynta’s fingers brushed the strap above his ear, anger blooming in her chest that he might lose something else because of her. 

Lips pressed into a thin line, Aric let out a breath. He hadn’t given up on Fynta’s panic attack, but let his questions go unasked for now. That was the price of marrying a sniper, they were patient enough to wait for the right moment. “I had a message from Shillet,” Aric answered, brow bones tugging into a worried frown while his fingers played with her hair. “I tried to call her back, but no luck.”

Fynta clung to the change of topic. She didn’t want to talk about Valkorion’s taunts. Aric didn’t need another thing to worry about. “Is she alright?”

“Not sure,” Aric answered, single eye fixed on the far wall, staring at something Fynta couldn’t see. She watched his concern grow daily for the young Nautolan, saw the struggle to reach out to her every time he looked at his comm. 

The Republic would take their pound of flesh for Havoc’s desertion from whoever they had to, and it bothered the Cathar that nothing had come of it yet. Aric sighed. “Her message sounded...off. I can’t reach Elara either.”

“What time is it on Coruscant,” Fynta asked, searching for her chrono with one hand.

Aric sighed and rubbed a hand over his face and head. He winced when the action tugged at the eye patch. “Late. You’re right, they’re probably asleep.” 

Despite the admission, Aric sighed and gazed down at the floor. Fynta nestled closer to him and smiled. “I know that look. Come on, out with it.”

The growl that Aric released said more than his words ever could. “I wish you’d let me go with you.”

Resting her forehead on Aric’s shoulder, Fynta closed her eyes and let the last vestiges of the dream fade into oblivion. The man from Fynta’s nightmare had been just that, a figment that Valkorion created to isolate her. She needed to stop making it so easy for the chakaar. “I wish you could too, but it’s too dangerous.”

Another angry rumble rolled through Aric. “You’re letting Theron go. He’s a Republic spy who doesn’t even wear armor.”

“It’s the Empress of the Sith empire,” Fynta mumbled into Aric’s shirt, leaving off the bit about how taking a Cathar into the Imp capital could be seen as a blatant act of defiance. As much as she hated to admit it, the Alliance needed this ally. Supplies were harder to find, but the mouths that needed food and the soldiers who required equipment continued to grow. Fynta sat up to look him in the eye. “No fighting, just a luncheon. I promise.”

“With a Sith,” Jorgan snorted while curling a pale strand around his finger. A strange smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he changed the subject. “Your hair is growing fast.” 

They sat in silence, Aric memorizing Fynta’s face with his fingertips, studying her features with an intensity that scared her. It was the look of a man convinced that this was the last time he’d see his wife. Fynta noted the touches of grey appearing around Aric’s mouth and temples. When she reached to touch them, he caught her hand. “I could wear a helmet. No one would know that I’m not human. Just a grunt who rolled guard detail.”

It was tempting. Fynta could have her husband, the only man she trusted absolutely, watching her back. “She’s likely to demand that we meet alone. No honor guards.”

“At least we’ll be on the same planet when it goes to shit,” Aric countered. Fynta found it difficult to argue with him, especially after everything they’d been through. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her throat. “Think about it.”

Fynta sighed and tipped her head back, a smile tugging at her resolve. “Lana’s going to kill me.” Aric’s annoyance morphed into a smirk that Fynta felt on her skin. She laughed and pushed him back. “I’ll hold you responsible for her retaliation.”

“I’ll take that,” Aric answered too quickly, then glanced at the chrono. One hand slid up Fynta’s thigh with the sort of slow determination of a man on a mission. “Think there’s time?” 

Fynta wiggled against her husband, laughing when he nipped at her collarbone. They’d stripped down to their underarmor to grab some rest during the trip, but neither appeared to be successful. Maybe a nice tussle in the sheets was what they needed to blow off some steam. 

Playful groping morphed into a focused drive to undress one another. Fynta’s shirt slid over her head, but Aric stopped before her lips could meld against his. “Promise me that you’ll play this smart. No unnecessary risks.”

Fynta snorted and tried to kiss Aric again, but he stopped her. “Promise me.” His voice shook, knuckles brushing the bottom of her chin while his gaze demanded satisfaction. 

Swallowing, Fynta nodded. She couldn’t fathom the fears of a man who’d spent six years alone, blaming himself for the death of the only person who could make him whole. She owed him this one, kind lie. “Haat, ijaa, haa'it.” 

Aric’s head tilted as his hand slipped lower to finger the necklace that dangled between her breasts. “Should I know what that means?”

Pulling him closer, Fynta looped her arms around Aric’s neck and smiled. “Truth, honor, vision.” She sealed each word with a kiss. Not just on the lips, but his nose, cheeks, and one good eye. “It’s how we seal a pact. I’ll come back to you.”

Aric turned Fynta until she lay beneath him on the bed. Hands and lips roamed like it was their first time making love. He’d just reached the hem of her shorts when a comm buzzed. Aric lifted his head to snarl at the offending device. Fynta laughed.

Scrambling to the edge of their bed, Aric answered the comm with a snapped word. Lana answered in kind. “If you kept better track of time then these moments wouldn’t be so commonplace.”

Fynta bit the back of her hand to keep from laughing louder. Aric bared his teeth at the Sith before handing the device to Fynta. She watched her husband roll off the bed to gather his gear, giving Lana only half of her attention. “Is it time to leave?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ll meet you in the hangar in five minutes.” Lana acted like she wanted to say something else, then decided against it. 

The call blinked out, and Fynta pushed off the bed to help Aric pull on the rest of his armor. She handed him his helmet, fingers tightening when he tried to pull it from her grasp. “Keep this on. Don’t let anyone know who you are.”

Aric nodded, stern features vanishing behind the familiar, t-shaped visor. Together, they secured Fynta’s gear in silence, then started for the hangar. Aric had her back, she would know where he was, and he’d be there to pull her out if things went bad. That alone made her feel more secure in the mission.

When they entered the hangar, Lana looked up from her conversation with Theron. The Sith’s eyes narrowed, then went wide with recognition. “Oh, for Force sake.” They stood at the bottom of the ramp leading into the _Thunderclap_.

If Koth would allow it, she and Aric would have camped out in their room aboard the ship that had been home for so many years. As it was, the former _Eternal Captain_ didn’t allow anyone in the docking bay while in transit. 

Theron looked between Fynta’s unapologetic grin and Lana’s disapproving scowl before settling on Jorgan in full armor. The spy blew out a breath. “He’s coming too?”

“He’s coming too,” Aric confirmed. The deepening of his voice through the helmet filters couldn’t hide the mockery in his tone.

Theron tossed his hands up in surrender and vanished into the shuttle. Lana waited, glaring with hands on hips as if she could convince her wayward commanders to change their minds with the power of her will. Fynta wondered if that’s exactly what the woman was trying to do, and they were simply too stubborn to be swayed. Eventually, Lana rolled her eyes. “You two will be the death of me.”

Fynta didn’t bother disguising her laughter as she followed the Sith aboard. She’d take their bitching any day over leaving her husband behind again. Aric was exactly where he was supposed to be, by her side


	4. Abandoning Old Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolah tries to come to grips with her new position in life. Fynta and Acina take a detour through the jungle. And, Jorgan loses his cool, while Theron and Lana play spy.

**Odessen  
** **War Room**

Scowling at datapads seemed to be all Zolah did anymore. She missed the days of her youth, the thrill of danger as she crept closer to a target, the heart-stopping lies that led her deeper behind enemy lines. In the space of a few years, Zolah's job had morphed from dismantling secretive organizations as an infamous ghost, to reviewing water usage reports and casualty numbers. No longer a cipher, Zolah was a Watcher.

"Well fuck," Zolah grumbled under her breath. She shouldn't complain. She was good at numbers and it made sense to apply her skillset in an administrative setting, but Zolah missed the intrigue of a good puzzle. She couldn't remember the last time that her heart pounded with adrenaline, or her implants had been forced to work beyond capacity. Overall, Zolah's life had become one of drudgery and routine.

A flurry of activity announced the arrival of the troops from Voss. They'd suffered injuries, but no more than expected when considering their adversary. The medical wing had been prepped for battlefield triage, and Yuun had prepared a protocol for staging those who were deemed non-critical. Medical personnel littered the dock around the _Gravestone's_ ramp, waiting for it to lower enough to swarm aboard and extract those who couldn't move under their own power.

Zolah leaned against the railing next to Vector. She planned to stay back until the ship was unloaded, then find someone to fill in the gaps in Theron's report. She sighed with the reminder that he wouldn't be disembarking. Theron's unplanned detour to Dromund Kaas sparked a flurry of homesickness that Zolah hadn't expected. Odessen wasn't home, just another stop in a lifetime of movement. Dromund Kaas held a sentimental attachment that no amount of training could destroy.

Troops filed off of the Gravestone first, parting like water around the stones of triage nurses. The ones with minor injuries first, then slower individuals with comrades' arms slung across their shoulders. Solish flounced down the ramp amid the walking wounded, teeth bared in a mad grin. Vector tensed at Zolah's side, an almost imperceptible movement, but one she knew well. He still hadn't forgiven the Sith for her unending propositions on the way to locate Doctor Lokin, not for himself, but for making Theron so uneasy.

"Love," Zolah began without taking her eyes off the approaching Cathar. "Would you see to our wounded and get a report from Master Vaa and Darth Kozen?"

Vector's black eyes settled on Zolah, weighing the wisdom of leaving his wife alone with such an unstable Sith. "I believe you'll find them in the Force Enclave with the other minor injuries," she added with a nod. That should keep him out of Solish's path for a while.

"Very well," Vector conceded, but he whispered a rescue signal in Zolah's ear before leaving. Few people trusted Darth Nox enough to remain with her without an open commlink. Though Zolah had yet to see the Sith act out, she was the kind of eccentric that carried a reputation for debauchery. A Sith who had embraced the Dark Side like a lover and laughed while it consumed her mind.

Vector kissed Zolah's cheek and turned towards the base. He paused to speak with one of the returning soldiers, his back to Solish until she was clear of him. Zolah suppressed a smirk, watching her clever husband vanish into the throng. "Darth Nox," she said, pulling her attention back to the Cathar. "You look well."

"I missed all of the action," Solish pouted, sharp teeth peeking between black lips. There was madness in her without doubt, but cold logic too. It was hidden beneath layers of chaos, but Zolah saw it in those keen, golden eyes that saw everything.

"I heard that we took losses." Zolah started towards the base, not waiting for Solish to catch up. The Cathar did, of course, slinking alongside with the gait of her wilder ancestors.

Solish dragged her claws across the stone walls leading to the lift. The sound made Zolah's teeth hurt, but she knew better than to react. A glance revealed deep furrows in the rock. A reminder that she was not to be trifled with, or perhaps marking her territory. "Vaylin fragged the whole fucking planet and Arcann got away," Solsh complained, slamming her fist into the down key. Zolah was relieved by the lack of sparks. "It was a wasted trip."

Zolah sighed. "Any news on the major's injuries?" Theron had reported that, of course, but he only had one part of the battle. They'd spread members of the War Council throughout the killing field to gain a better understanding of Vaylin's tactics, which appeared to be geared more towards destruction than power. A child pitching a tantrum, indeed.

"He looks good in an eye patch," Solish offered without the standard sultry trill. Her early attempts at distracting the commander's husband had been met with open hostility. It was the first and only time that Zolah had seen the infamous Darth Nox back down. She'd given Jorgan a wide berth since then. Zolah assumed it was a Cathar thing, something she couldn't possibly understand, so she didn't waste her time when so much else required her attention.

Zolah lifted a brow, hands clasped behind her back while she waited for the Sith to continue. Solish shrugged. "I wasn't close enough to get an idea of the damage, but I got the impression that the physician wasn't worried."

"Good. A sniper shouldn't be without his eyesight," Zolah answered, shuddering. Few things made her squirm, but losing her rifle proficiency ranked among her worst nightmares. Though she and Aric Jorgan were not friends, they bore professional respect for one another. "What of Senya?"

Solish snorted, eyes like smoldering embers rolling towards the ceiling. "The stupid woman nearly killed herself to save that bastard son of hers." Senya had been Solish's mission, one she wasn't pleased by the outcome of. Solish flapped a dismissive hand as they boarded the lift. "She's been unresponsive to stimuli since the ritual. She's not faking, I checked."

"You didn't—" Zolah stopped when Solish flashed her fangs. "You electrocuted a woman in critical condition?"

"It was just a little zap," Solish protested without a hint of remorse. "I thought it was worth the risk. We don't need any more surprises."

Zolah sighed, but didn't pursue the topic of Senya's treatment while in their care. The woman would soon be under guard in the medical wing where she could be kept safe from herself and curious Sith. When the lift came to a stop, Zolah stepped off and signaled for one of her aids. The young woman hurried forward, stumbling slightly when Solish appeared. Zolah pretended not to notice. "Call a council meeting for two hours from now."

The woman nodded, flashed another glance at Solish, then hurried away. When Zolah turned to speak with the Cathar, it was to find her standing too close again. "Two hours?" Solish asked with an almost childlike tilt of her head.

"Should I make it sooner?" Zolah countered, putting the proper amount of space between them. It had been too long since she guarded her tongue around a Sith. The Alliance brought a measure of equality that didn't exist anywhere else in the galaxy. It was one more fact for Zolah to file under the proof that she wouldn't be able to return to the Empire once this war was over. One wrong step there and she'd get more than a sharp glare.

Solish clicked her tongue. "Two hours should be sufficient...unless." She tapped her chin with one, long claw. "Are both Andronikos _and_ Kaliyo in residence?" Zolah nodded, the latter having returned that morning.

Solish grinned. "Better make it three."

**Dromund Kaas  
** **Upper Jungle Expanse**

Fynta dragged herself off of the ground with a curse. The sodden earth squelched beneath her hands and feet, raising memories that she never let fully solidify. "Acina?" Fynta coughed on the acrid stench of burning wires and thermaplast casings, blinked through the trail of smoke in search of her companion.

"Here." The Empress stood not four meters away, arms crossed over her chest. Acina's scowl spoke more of disapproval than Sith wrath while she gazed on the swath of destroyed jungle that her shuttle had left. Fynta staggered towards the older woman, mentally ticking off muscles that would be stiff tomorrow. Thankfully, nothing felt seriously damaged.

When Fynta stopped, the Empress sighed. "I spent nearly two hundred thousand credits on that thing." Orange shadows danced in the distance, casting demons that stretched towards them.

Fynta shook the mental image away. "Was it insured?" A spark ignited somewhere within and created another small explosion that died in the heavy air.

"Of course." Acina's tone carried the weight of a lifetime of assassination attempts, enough that something as insignificant as shuttle sabotage barely ranked more than a huff of irritation. "But, I really liked _that_ one."

When Acina turned, her amber eyes caught on something above Fynta's head. With a click of her tongue, she picked a twig with little red berries still attached out of Fynta's hair. "Are you hale and whole?"

Fynta flexed her shoulder, noting the grind but nothing suggested that it had popped out of socket again. "More or less. Hell of a tour you offer." _Aric's going to kill me._ The thought skittered through the back of her mind now that the adrenaline from the crash was beginning to wear off.

Acina tossed the branch away. "I thought you might enjoy the more rugged view." Acina's tone was drier than the Tatooine desert, but Fynta laughed anyway. Two shuttles downed in almost as many days left her with the notion that she was either the luckiest woman in the galaxy or cursed by some bored god. The thought made Fynta laugh harder.

"You are a strange one," Acina commented, brow furrowed in that way Lana had when she was trying to get into Fynta's head. That had bothered Fynta once, until she realized that she no longer had any secrets worth keeping. If someone wanted to root around in the dark recesses of Fynta's minds, she hoped they were made of sturdy stuff.

Fynta winked at the empress, then tried her comm. She wished that she could be surprised when static answered, but that seemed to be the way things went lately. "Aric is going to kill me," she mumbled. Saying it out loud didn't make it feel like any less of a disaster.

The comment wasn't meant for anyone in particular, but Acina latched onto it. "Jealous lover?"

"Something like that." The swirling clouds overhead caught Fynta's attention. They boiled like water, with flashes illuminating the background and creating ominous shadows. "Fretful husband." How long until they realized that the shuttle had gone down? How long until Aric started tearing through Acina's guards in an attempt to reach her? _I should have made him go back to Odessen._

"I supposed congratulations are in order, your pre-carbonite file listed you as unattached." Acina tugged on Fynta's gauntlet and nodded towards the crash site. "I have an emergency beacon in my shuttle, come on."

Fynta followed the empress, impressed by how little regard she showed for dragging those fancy jacket tails through the mud. The sticky mush coated anything it touched, grabbing for boots and legs as they cut through the swampy jungle. Fynta made a mental note to never visit this jungle again.

"Ten years," Fynta called while clambering up a rockslide with less grace than the Sith that she followed. Fynta didn't know why she was telling Acina about her marriage other than she was tired of it being a secret. That, and it was something to take her mind off this osikla weather. "We kept a lid on it to make life less complicated."

Acina stopped at the top and turned to offer Fynta a hand up. "How fascinating. Your commanding officer? Subordinate?" She grunted under Fynta's weight, neglecting the Force's aid for reasons that Fynta couldn't fathom. When they were both standing again, the empress offered a maternal smile. "How chivalrous of him to have remained true for so long."

Fynta knew a probing statement when she heard one, but Acina couldn't harm either of them with the knowledge. Fynta was tired of pretending to be anything other than what she was. "He's Cathar." _And, currently sitting on your dias_ , Fynta through with a wry grin that she couldn't show.

The surprised lift of Acina's brows felt vindicating. The empress tilted her head to one side, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips in a way that reminded Fynta of Lana. "A Cathar and a Mandalorian, the stuff of bedtime stories. You're more interesting than I could have hoped."

Fynta huffed a laugh as she peeked over the side of their cliff at the burning wreckage below. "Finally. Now we can get out of this jungle."

"Careful." Acina's hand pressed Fynta back. "Deadly predators stalk these wilds."

Fynta looked through the dazzling light of the fire, spying the gleam of curious eyes edging closer to the crash site. Lana had warned Fynta about the wildlife on Dromund Kaas. They were used to pirates and Sith, not easily deterred once on the scent of prey. She'd gotten the feeling that her old friend hadn't been talking specifically about the jungle animals. "You could say the same thing about your cities."

Acina chuckled. "City predators won't eat our remains." She paused and cast a sideways glance at Fynta. "Usually."

"You know." Fynta offered a wide grin and unholstered her Verpine. "In another life, I might have enjoyed your town."

"In another life, you could have ruled it," Acina called as she picked her way down the hill towards the wreckage. Thunder rumbled overhead, and Acina stopped to frown at the sky. "Terrible timing. We must hurry."

Fynta started after her, eyes on the uneven ground that squished and shifted beneath her boots. Wind rushed between the trees without warning, followed by driving rain. "Is this sort of thing norm-" Fynta's sentence ended with a grunt. Pressure spread through her chest, throwing her back into the mud a second before the air exploded. Blinding light and sound reverberated through her entire body, shocking her system into motionlessness.

It was over in a blink, then Acina was there, words muted through the ringing in Fynta's ears. It took her addled senses too long to clear for Acina's liking and she yanked Fynta upright. "This storm is bad, worse than I've seen in a while. We'll need to find shelter."

Acina dragged Fynta behind her with a firm grin on her pauldron. Lightning struck a tree half a klick to the east and Fynta finally understood. "Fierfek. That was lightning that knocked me on my shebs?" Her neck ached, but she patted Acina's arm to let the woman know that she was good to walk on her own.

"No," Acina called back over the wind. "That was me. The lightning would have killed you."

"Thanks, I think." Fynta wished that she had her helmet, and silently vowed to do no more meetings without it. The humidity on Dromund Kaas made her armor feel heavier without the ability to seal herself inside an environmentally controlled suit. Not to mention, protection of planetary, Dark Side storms.

The rain swelled around Fynta's boots, unable to soak into the already saturated dirt. She'd just freed one foot from the mud when Acina held up a hand to stop Fynta. If the pelting rain bothered the older woman as she crouched, she hid it well. "Does that look like a hunting party to you?"

Fynta joined her, squinting down the hill to where dark shapes ambled in the dimming light of the flames. Soon, the rain would extinguish the shuttle altogether. Fynta swiped her dripping bangs out of her face. "Well, I haven't had an attempt on my life in about an hour. Should we go say hi?"

The high pitched snap of an igniting lightsaber made the hair on the back of Fynta's neck stand on end. Acina's rueful smile looked sinister in the purple light. "It would be rude not to."

**Dromund Kaas**  
 **Sith Citadel  
** **Guest Quarters**

"What do you mean, _gone_?" Jorgan ripped his helmet off to snarl at the miniature holo of Saresh. "What did you do?"

"Surely, you don't believe that I had anything to do with this." Saresh's tone sounded affronted at the thought, but Aric had known one of the men on her arrest detail. He'd vanished to some hole of a prison and no amount of inquiry had gotten Jorgan a location. "I've got spies everywhere, Major. You'd do well to remember that."

Aric ignored the threat and focused on breathing through the pain radiating from his injured eye through his skull. Stress throbbed with each pulse of his heart. Jorgan shoved it all away to concentrate on the more pressing matter.

Saresh was a snake, but there had always been a grain of truth to her lies. He held his collapsing world together with the sheer, stubborn faith that he hadn't just gotten his wife back to lose her again. Fynta was out there, somewhere; she wasn't dead.

The Twi'lek clasped her hands and managed a sympathetic sigh. "Acina's shuttle went down in the jungle. My agents say that it was completely destroyed with no survivors. You have my condolences."

"You'll forgive us if we don't take your word on it," Theron chimed in, easing between Jorgan and the former chancellor. Aric stalked away from the console, one hand scrubbing vigorously over his head while he tried to formulate a plan of action.

"Naturally, you'll want to step in and fill the void." Theron spoke in the cool manner of spies, displaying zero emotion about the possibility of Fynta being trapped in the volatile jungle with a Sith Lord.

Saresh tipped her head. "Losing your commander leaves a dangerous power vacuum, one that must be filled by someone strong enough to make hard choices."

"You have experience in such matters," Lana added, mirroring Theron's calm. "A figurehead with a reputation for ruthless negotiations."

Jorgan knew that there was something else going on, that these two who had championed Fynta for years wouldn't so easily hand the Alliance over to a woman like Saresh. Perhaps if his thoughts hadn't been clouded by images of his wife bleeding out in some ditch while they played word games, he could have figured it out.

The din of voices from the comms console wore on Jorgan's frayed nerves. He spun, jabbing one finger at Saresh and bared his teeth. "I'll find her, and then, I'll find you." Without waiting for the Twi'lek's reply, he turned on his heel and started for the door.

"We'll get back to you." Theron palmed the disconnect and jogged after Jorgan. "Aric. Major Jorgan!"

Theron caught Jorgan at the door to their suite and almost grabbed his arm. Aric wished that he had. "Where do you think you're going?" Theron settled for blocking Jorgan's path with hands on hips. The spy was shorter than him by a few inches, with broad shoulders and a wide stance, but Aric knew that he'd win if it came to a fight.

"To find my wife," Jorgan answered as he stepped to one side. He didn't care about the plans or plots of the War Council. The Alliance no longer mattered, nor did the insignificant human trying to fill the space in front of him. Only Fynta mattered. He'd find her and leave all of this. They'd settle somewhere far away from the people who wanted her to save the galaxy so that they could go on destroying it on their own terms.

Theron darted in front of Jorgan to cut him off again, hands lifted in placation. "That's a terrible idea. What happens if you get lost out there, or injured? Do you have any idea what Fynta would do to me if some Imp mistook you for a runaway slave?" Jorgan lifted a brow and Theron sighed. "Look, the Republic won't back us, and Fynta's determined to turn Malcom into an enemy. We _need_ the Empire, fuck, I never thought I'd hear myself say that."

Jorgan started around Theron for the last time. If the spy blocked him again, he'd go through him. "I'll be fine." He wouldn't sit back while she dealt with it alone, not again.

"Don't make me do this," Theron called, raising his voice louder than necessary. Aric spared the spy a backward glance, then reached for the door panel. "Major Jorgan, I'm ordering you to stand down."

Every nerve in Aric's body sparked to life, muscles quivering with the strain of holding his temper in check. Jorgan turned slowly to pin Theron with a hate filled snarl. "You don't have that authority." The words came out as a low, barely audible growl.

"I do," Theron answered, voice carrying through the doors that Jorgan knew had guards posted on the other side. Lana came to stand by Theron, silent but obvious in her support. The spy held Jorgan's gaze, conveying some message that Fynta would have understood. "In the commander's absence, Lana and I run the Alliance."

Jorgan's fingers curled into a fist. He could already feel Theron's nose crunching beneath the weight of it. "If we are to be of any help to Fynta, there is no time for this." Lana's fingers twitched in his peripheral, likely preparing to pin him to a wall.

Jorgan's lips slid back to display sharp teeth. "This isn't over, Shan."

"Of course, not," Theron answered, closing the gap to snatch Jorgan's helmet from his hands, pausing momentarily to glance at the patch covering his right eye. Averting his gaze, Theron slammed the helmet over Aric's head. "You can kill me later. Lana?"

The Sith had moved to the door, hands raised with fingers splayed as if gripping the edges of something heavy. "If we're going to move, now would be the time."

"Good." Theron shoved Jorgan towards the door and unholstered his blaster. "Let's make some noise."


	5. Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta learns that Dromund Kaas is a creepy planet. Theron experiences a truly, furious Cathar and decides that he’d rather stay on Jorgan’s good side. Torian isn’t used to being caught off guard, but can’t seem to keep up with how often Fynta dies, oh, and he should probably stop betting against Verin.

**Dromund Kaas  
** **Sith Crypt  
** **Secret Exit**

"Well, that was fun," Acina snorted, stepping over the still smoking body of Minister Lorman. His head lay at an awkward angle, nearly unrecognizable from the hole that Fynta had blasted through it while Acina held him suspended above the floor.

It had been a poorly conceived power play. While Lorman acted like a weasley spy, Saresh used the distraction to seize the Alliance. When the smoke cleared, they would announce a temporary truce and come away with higher ranks than either could have managed on their own. It worked, in theory. Why Lorman thought he could take out the Empress and Alliance commander with only three Force-null thugs as backup still confounded Fynta.

"Let's not do it again," Fynta answered, weaving through the corpses of Lorman's men instead of going over them as their empress had. While not superstitious, she'd heard rumors of Force ghosts inhabiting burial sites. After experiencing contact with one on Yavin 4, Fynta wanted out of the crypt they'd sheltered in.

Acina led Fynta up a spiral stairwell, chattering about the history of such places across the planet. "I believe Darth Nox is in your company, yes?" Fynta didn't answer, but the empress didn't appear to expect one. "You should inquire about her experiences on the topic, I've heard interesting things." Again, Fynta remained quiet, but she didn't doubt the validity of the claim. While the Sith Cathar made for a powerful ally, there was an unhinged feel to her.

With every step, the adrenaline of battle ebbed from Fynta's system to be replaced by the fear of what Aric might have done in her absence. It was easy to forget the threats made aboard the Thunderclap while battling for survival, but now she couldn't keep them at bay. Would Aric really risk a rescue attempt in the heart of Imperial territory? How long had she and the Acina been missing? Three or four hours tops. Surely Theron could manage to keep her husband safe for that long. Fynta huffed a sardonic breath of laughter that didn't garner the empress's interest. She should have never agreed to let Aric come.

"Do you hear that?" Acina asked, triggering Fynta's mind and body into synchronicity. It trampled over her inner dialogue and silenced any emotions attached to it. She listened, heart thumping with anticipation of another fight.

A distant hum, one similar to that of the lightsaber Acina currently used to illuminate their path, echoed down from above. Raising her blaster in a two handed grip, Fynta motioned that she'd cover Acina's advance. The stairway opened to one side, so they could jump if necessary. Fynta glanced over the edge and decided that would be a last resort, more of a _you'll never take me alive_ sentiment.

"There's a door," Acina hissed in a voice barely above a whisper. "And, I believe someone on the other side." Fynta's muscles tensed. They'd be at a disadvantage on the stairs, but Acina wasn't to be trifled with, and Fynta had one more clip left for her Verpine.

When the door became visible around the next turn, Fynta barely snatched Acina's robes back before the empress leaped into an attack. A familiar, red blade severed the last hinge, and Fynta plastered herself to the wall when the door flew past. Acina managed to deflect the projectile, but Fynta's heart beat against her ribs all the same.

"Good reflexes." A smirk pulled at Acina's painted lips. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Fynta grumbled, leaning away from the safety of the wall to study the gouge where the metal slab had struck the stairs. "Lana has a thing about doors."

Acina might have chuckled, but the sound was lost in Lana's cool satisfaction. "Ah, there you are."

"What took you so long," Fynta asked as she holstered her sidearm. She was stiff, achy, and in need of a hot shower followed by a large meal.

Lana stepped aside in time for a heavily armored figure to plow through. Aric ignored the empress and hit Fynta without slowing. His embrace crushed her against his armor, pinning her between him and the wall that had sheltered her a moment earlier. Fynta's grumpiness dimmed in the wake of her relief that he was unharmed.

Theron appeared next, hands flapping and eyes rolled towards the ceiling as if to say that Aric was Fynta's problem now. She smiled with the knowledge that there were people out there who would take on the haunted forests of Dromund Kaas to rescue her, even if they complained later. It had taken years to accept, but Fynta finally understood that she wasn't alone anymore. Maybe, she never really had been.

"This must be the husband," Acina commented with a matronaly smile befitting an empress. A look passed between her and Lana, some Force mysticism that Fynta would never understand, before Acina clapped her hands. "It's good to see young love reunited again. Now, shall we take this reunion elsewhere? I have more traitors to roust."

"Of course," Lana answered, offering a hand to the empress to help her up the final step. To Fynta's surprise, Acina accepted and allowed herself to be led from the crypt onto a waiting shuttle. Theron followed, watching the women ahead of him with the sort of disinterest that signaled his listening implants were dialed to maximum strength.

Fynta left Theron to his spying and fell in beside Aric. "I brought this for you." Her helmet hung from his belt, hidden until he lifted one arm so that she could unhook it.

Comfortable silence enveloped Fynta, bathing her in the familiar light of her HUD when her helmet locked into place. Aric's incoming icon blinked, and Fynta answered immediately. "Saresh is making a bid for power." Those were not the first words that she expected to hear from her husband. The ones that followed, however, brought a smile to her lips. "And, don't do that again. You're going to send me to an early grave with stunts like that."

Fynta lived for the gruff, love filled admonishments that only Aric could manage. "When we get back, no missions for at least a week," she promised. It still amazed Fynta that she'd forgotten the little nuances that made her relationship with him unbreakable. Then, it enraged her that Valkorion has managed it so easily. She'd kill the chakaar; one day.

"I'll hold you to that," Aric answered. His voice was deep, the way it sounded when he was struggling with his emotions, and it doused the flames of Fynta's rage. She wanted to see his face, to sink her fingers into the fur at the back of his neck and pull him into a desperate kiss that blocked out the rest of the world. Fynta settled for interlocking their gloved fingers and squeezing. Aric's vizor tipped towards their hands before returning the gesture. It was enough for now.

Positioning them at the back of the shuttle and away from the Sith, Theron cleared his throat. "I'm assuming by the silence that you two are speaking privately, but it's time to rejoin the class."

Fynta activated her external speakers and motioned for Theron to go on. Normally, she'd have followed it with some sort of inappropriate or childish gesture, but she was too tired to bother. Theron squatted, back pressed against the opposite wall so that he could keep his balance while Acina piloted them to Kaas City. "This whole thing was orchestrated to put Saresh back in authority. I'm sure Jorgan has filled you in on the big picture, so we've got to act fast."

"I can't say that I'm surprised," Fynta answered, noting the way Aric tensed at her side. "The woman's been power hungry since we first met her on Taris, what...ten, twelve years ago? Even then, she viewed Havoc Squad as her personal mercenary unit. It must have rankled when we outgrew her command."

Fynta remembered that the Twi'lek turned an unhealthy shade of green at the reminder that Havoc didn't report to her. They'd helped with a few problems that had the local troops overwhelmed while waiting on Gaff to return Fynta's calls, but she had stayed true to the objective. "Have you contacted the base yet?"

Theron nodded. "Aygo knows to keep an eye out for her." His gaze flicked to Jorgan, then back to Fynta. Habit formed from years of working with the spy drew her attention to his hands. Theron signaled that there might be a problem, and Fynta's gut tightened. His tone remained conversational. "As soon as we're back on the ship, I need to brief you on a few things."

Fynta nodded, and Theron excused himself to check on Lana. Using her cameras, she studied Aric. His helmet leaned against the bulkhead of the ship, offering no indication of his own wellbeing. "You okay, riduur?"

The comm in Fynta's helmet clicked, followed by a long sigh. "I am now." His hand slid onto Fynta's thigh and she wrapped both of hers around it. Aric sounded older, more weary than she'd expected, but Fynta knew better than to push when they were so deep into enemy territory. Once back on Odessen, she would lock them in a room to clear the air. They just had to get that far.

_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **En route to Odessen**

Theron didn't usually follow Fynta to her room, but with Aric returning to their quarters with a headache and the meeting with Acina having gone to shit, he had pulled Fynta away to touch base on matters. Namely, how they planned to handle Saresh once they reached Odessen.

"You can't shoot on sight, Fynta," Theron called to the stubborn woman ahead of him. Fynta had gotten fed up with the impromptu meeting and announced that she was going to take a nap. However, Theron wasn't done arguing. "It'll destroy morale for the Alliance to see their commander—"

Something shattered against the wall, halting both Fynta and Theron for a heartbeat outside her door. She moved first, rushing open it while Theron readied his blaster even though he knew that they were alone on the ship. Only Lana had traveled with them, and she was piloting.

Stepping in, Theron swept the room for hostiles before settling on a haggard looking Cathar beside the rumpled bed. It didn't take long to identify the source of the sound. A lamp lay against the wall, broken into three pieces with the bolts that had held it to the desk still clinging to pits of wood and metal shaving.

"Aric?" Fynta hurried to her husband, cupping his face to check for injuries. Theron hadn't gotten used to seeing the Cathar with his rough eye patch yet. It made him look more feral than usual, unhinged even. The snarl that he answered Fynta with only solidified that image.

"Did you know?" Jorgan growled the words, teeth dangerously close to Fynta's throat. Theron would never get used to that, either. He'd always thought Fynta was the more dangerous of the two, but the hatred in that pale, blue eye made Theron question his earlier assumption.

"Know what?" Fynta asked, hands still pressed to either side of the Cathar's face. Theron holstered his blaster and nudged the lamp with his boot. Squatting to examine the damage, Theron flicked and what looked like a piece of a durasteel mounting strip.

Someone cleared their throat, and Theron realized for the first time the Elara Dorne waited patiently on the holo next to the hole where the lamp had been secured. She stood with hands behind her back, ever the poised Imperial officer regardless of her loyalties. Despite being only inches tall, Dorne managed to convey a larger presence with the lift of her chin. "No one else knew, Aric. I was waiting for the right time."

Jorgan rounded on Dorne, yanking away from Fynta's grasp with enough force to jerk her with him. "There isn't any time left." It wasn't quite a yell, but his tone made the hair on Theron's neck stand up. Jorgan kicked the desk Elara's holo perched on and jabbed a finger at the woman. "You should have told me immediately."

"You've been in non stop combat, I thought that perhaps I could settle this without adding another burden to your shoulders." Elara sighed and dropped her arms. "I was wrong, and I cannot apologize enough for it. In fifteen days, Shillet will be remanded back into the Republic's custody, and we need to focus on what to do about it. You can hate me later."

Fynta pressed her palms against the desk surface, seemingly unfazed by its state of disrepair. "What about you? Can your mock up some papers—"

The quick jerk of Dorne's head cut Fynta off. "They won't consider me as an option because of my ties to you. I'm grateful that they haven't come for Tayl as it is."

Pressing thumb and forefinger to her eyes, Fynta blew out a breath. "Okay, start from the beginning. Someone tell me what the hell is going on." She squatted while Jorgan paced the small space behind her, looking Dorne in the eye as best as possible through a holocall.

Aric punched the bulkhead, fist clanging against the metal, before he made another pass to the center of the room. "I've been declared an unfit guardian," he growled. Hearing the words spoken changed the Cathar's entire aura. Fear and disbelief entered his eyes, face falling as the rage drained away. It was a picture more frightening than the primal fury of moments before. "They are going to take my daughter."

Jorgan crumpled onto the mattress and braced his head in his hands. Theron quietly pushed to his feet and positioned himself near the open door. The defeat that washed off the Cathar made his fingers twitch with the need to be active. He'd seen the narrow range of Aric Jorgan's emotions: bitter, threatening, even relieved, but never this. Never, broken. Elara looked away. "I've tried everything. I—I don't know what else to do."

When Fynta shifted to Jorgan's side, Theron hesitated between staying and leaving. This felt too private for witnesses, more intimate than the kisses which he'd observed more times than he cared to remember.

Placing a hand on Aric's knee, Fynta spoke in a voice unlike anything that Theron had heard from her. "I won't let them." Aric glanced up and met his wife's eyes; after a moment he nodded. The grin that showed too many teeth looked more natural on her face, but he could see the tightness in it. "Besides, I made that girl a promise. One I don't intend to break."

Jorgan seemed to come back to life with the next inhale; his posture straightened as he cleared the thickness from his throat. Theron realized that all the man needed was the hope of one, annoying, insane woman to believe that everything would work out in the end. He had always assumed that Lana had worked some Sithy magic to make people follow her chosen Outlander, but now Theron saw that the magic rested in Fynta, a woman who made things happen even when it went against her advisor's warnings.

Standing, Fynta's gaze settled on Theron, but her words were meant for Elara. "Dorne, you might want to hang up now. Plausible deniability and all that."

"Understood, sir. Good luck." The comm clicked and the miniature medic disappeared, throwing the room into semi-darkness

Theron knew that Fynta had something stupid planned before she opened her mouth. He'd seen _that_ look too many times in the past. "I'll get a team together," he answered before she could get to the details. "Infiltrate and extract?"

Fynta nodded, one hand resting on Aric's shoulder. "Nothing fancy. This is a silent op, need to know only."

"I've got just the people in mind." Theron started for the door, half eager to leave Fynta to deal with Aric while another part of his mind thrummed with strategic solutions. Fynta wouldn't care if her extraction team was composed mostly of Imperials, so long as they got the job done. Jorgan...didn't need to know. Luckily, Theron knew of two in particular who had infiltrated the Republic homeworld before.

Theron let himself out, leaving Fynta to pick up the pieces of her husband and started down the hall. Stepping into the conference room, he plugged into the viewscreen and contacted Zolah directly. While he waited, Theron fiddled with a few of the computer components and cringed at the outdated software now powering the once cutting edge ship.

Thunderclaps had been replaced in recent years, and this one had been more neglected than most. Theron remembered the day that he'd finally pinned it down, hoping to give Fynta some semblance of normality after discovering that she'd missed half a decade. There had been vague interest that Theron had chalked up to the disorientation of being out of time. He should have known better.

"What is wrong?" Zolah's clipped accent cut through Theron's regrets. He shook the morose thoughts away and focused on his lover, noting that she still wore the same clothes as the last time he'd spoken with her.

"Is Vector there?" Zolah activated visual comms to show the man in question stepping out of his room, hair still damp from a shower. _At least one of them was taking care of themselves, Theron thought,_ though he kept the remark to himself and sent Zolah the file he'd started. "I need your help."

Zolah sat cross legged on the sofa while Vector leaned forward to peer over her shoulder. A pang of need wormed through Theron's chest at the sight. Not the sexual tension from when he'd first moved in with the two imperials, but a comfortable warmth that made him ache for home.

When Vector's brow scrunched, Theron took that as his cue to begin. "The Republic declared Jorgan unfit and plans to retain custody of his daughter." He'd always found it easiest to blurt things like this out, then deal with reactions after. To his surprise, Zolah snorted.

"It took them bloody well long enough." When Theron's jaw fell open, the Chiss rolled those solid, red eyes. "Come now, this can't be a surprise. He betrayed his government and Fynta personally insulted your father; they'd be fools not to retaliate. Had he been Imperial, my first course of action would be to secure possible leverage points."

"Possible lever—" Theron squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Never mind." It was easy to forget that this sort of fucked up stuff that was commonplace in the Empire. He reminded himself that their invitation to life together didn't require that he join it.

Zolah tapped at her screen, speaking without looking up. "I suppose they are finally ready for an extraction?"

"You—" Theron felt like he had walked into a room with bad intel and no weapons. A single glance at Vector confirmed his suspicions. "Damn, you do. You've already got a plan in the works." Neither had bothered to share it with him, turning that comfortable sensation in his stomach sour.

"Only a shell," Vector answered, straightening to full height. "Zolah foresaw this eventuality and has determined the best method of retrieving someone—or several someones—from Republic custody. We saw no reason to add another worry to your list of concerns. It was..." Vector paused as if searching for a hard to grasp word. " _My_ suggestion."

Theron let the slight pass given Vector's reasons and flopped into a chair. "Well damn." He waved a hand at the two larger than life imperials. "Alright, show me what you've got."

**Odessen  
** **Shuttle Bay**

Torian sat on a stack of crates behind one of the ships slotted for maintenance. He wasn't hiding, but he preferred to stay out of the way when making personal calls. The barracks offered little privacy and he'd turned down the option for a private room since he didn't use it for more than sleeping. So long as he didn't interfere with their work, the mechanics didn't mind when Torian slipped into a quiet corner to contact his clan.

Verin bounced his four month old daughter and made faces while Torian did his best not to be entertained. He failed, coughing loud enough to draw Verin back into the conversation. "Everything's still standing, alor," Verin reported without breaking eye contact with Josi. She had a full head of black, curly hair and the biggest, brown eyes that Torian had ever seen. The child enchanted everyone who met her, and Torian was no exception. Without kids of his own, he settled for doting quietly on the ones in his clan.

Keshal had managed things while Torian brought a mixture of clans to aid with the assault on Voss. Given his ties to Fynta through her brother, and lack of family on Manda'yaim, Vizla saw Torian as the perfect liaison. It wasn't all bad, though he missed the people who'd become family over the years. The Mando'ade on base didn't see him as the son of a traitor, at least. He was Torian Cadera, Alor of the Cadera Clan, small, but influential.

"And Tranx?" Torian asked, pulling himself out of his own thoughts.

The boy had been furious about being left behind to guard the settlement, even more so when he found out that it had been a direct order from Torian. While not opposed to sending young warriors into battle, Tranx and the others of his generation weren't ready for the scale of which Voss had been hit. Torian would have sent them into a massacre and never forgiven himself. They were young and impetuous, lacking the ability to use their buckets for more than a battering ram. He hoped more time with Keshal would temper their spirits.

Verin sighed. "He's not as mad as before, but Keshal said that he hasn't had much to say. He and Zula have kept to themselves."

Torian nodded. "Send some of the younger ones here, let them get a taste of battle's aftermath. I can task them around the base and make them feel useful. Not to mention, Fynta can find something for a bunch of Mando kids to do."

Verin's answering smile was grateful. "He has been bugging me about visiting again. Plenty of mountains and wilderness to patrol." The man's voice ended on an edge that Torian knew all too well. Verin cleared his throat, features shifting from goofy father to concerned brother. "How is she?"

It went without saying what Verin really wanted to know. Though Torian hadn't brought the matter up with the commander, he knew of the Sith spirit slumbering in her mind. Valkorion, former Vitiate of the Sith Empire, had stolen her memories and latched onto her lifeforce. No one knew how entangled to the two souls were, only that she struggled daily to hold him at bay. The latest intel was that Valkorion had abandoned Fynta in the swamp, but Verin confided in Torian that Fynta was having nightmares again. He'd requested a covert watch over his sister and reports if she began to behave abnormally.

"Running herself into the ground searching for Arcann." Torian bent one knee to rest his gauntlet over it. "They took a detour to Dromund Kaas. Something about meeting with the empress."

Verin snorted, and Josi beamed at the noise. "Because my sister and Sith make the perfect concoction." He sighed, then blew air through his lips in an attempt to coax a rare laugh from the baby. She was growing fast, hitting most of the milestones early. "Just have her call me when she gets in, yeah? Shabla woman never checks her messages."

Movement caught Torain's eye, and he glanced up to spy Noara peeking around the landing gear. "Gotta go, Verin. I'll talk to her. Let me know when you've got a timetable for the trip here." Ending the call, Torian slid off the crates with a smile. "You'd make a terrible spy."

Noara's cheeks colored, giving her normally pale skin a becoming blush. "I didn't mean to, but there's something going on." She pressed her lips into a tight smile. "Was that Fynta's niece?"

"It was. Name's Josi. I'll introduce you next time." Torian rounded the wheel to find a larger than expected gathering in the center of the hangar. Guards in Republic gear stood on the stage where air traffic controllers usually worked, weapons cradled in their arms. His enthusiasm at being visited by his favorite Jedi turned to concern. "Any ideas what's going on?"

Noara shook her head, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear. It was pulled into a tight bundle on the back of her neck, but strands had come loose to frame her face. She must have been training in the enclave before coming for Torian. A light sheen of sweat still glistened on her bare arms, and Torian had to force himself not to let his eyes wander over other exposed areas. "Someone said Saresh, but that can't be right, can it?"

Torian knew the name, but didn't have an opinion on the woman. She was the Republic's problem, worlds away and she had little to nothing to do with them. He remembered her from Taris, and of course, Cinlat had been directly responsible for the woman's promotion with that stunt she pulled with the former Chancellor, but that had been after Torian's time. He'd only heard about it years later from Verin when Torian asked how they had gotten their names off the Republic's most wanted lists.

"Let's check it out." Torain's hand settled on the small of Noara's back out of habit. During his time on Odessen, he had spent most of the free moments with her. Something about the Jetii tugged at Torian in a way that he'd never experienced. Even when he didn't actively seek Noara out, Torian found himself orbiting wherever she was.

The irony wasn't lost on Torian. He'd told Cinlat years ago that any woman he fell for would have to be Mandalorian and a better shot than him. He'd thought that she'd fit that description, but the universe had other plans for the famed hunter. Noara was the complete opposite. She knew nothing about his culture, and Torian wasn't sure if Jetiise knew how to hold a blaster, much less fire one. But, she learned. Noara hungered for the sort of family and comradery that Mandalorian culture offered. Fynta's earlier comment about the woman being Mando'ade without realizing it made more sense with each passing day, but Torian didn't want Noara to change too much.

Guiding Noara towards the front of the growing mass, Torian crossed his arms and waited to see what would happen. Noara shifted, clear eyes darting from face to face with obvious apprehension. She leaned closer to whisper. "There is a lot of fear and anger here."

Torian took in the people closest, noting the tense muscles and frantic whispers. They'd heard something while he was on the call with Verin, something that made them antsy. Torian took a step closer to Noara in case the collective mood turned towards mob mentality. She didn't need protecting, but the closer proximity made him feel better about the potential for violence.

A Twi'lek stepped into view, situating herself behind an official looking podium that hadn't been there before. "Members of the Alliance." She cleared her throat, waiting for silence before continuing. "As many of you have already heard, your commander is dead."

Torian wasn't sure what was said after that because his ears buzzed with disbelief. His mind rebelled against the possibility that Fynta was gone. Not after she'd clawed her way back from the abyss. Torian's next thoughts went to Jorgan. According to rumors around the base, this made Fynta's third brush with death. Osik'la, how was Torian supposed to tell Verin that the sister who'd just returned from the dead was lost to the Manda again?

"There are dark times ahead." Saresh droned one, grabbing Torian's attention only when Noara's fingers wrapped around his wrist. Her other hand pressed against her lips, eyes wide with loss. An unexpected anger bubbled to the surface with each word from the Twi'leks mouth while she discussed the future of an Alliance that didn't belong to her. "But, fear not, I have come to offer you a beacon!"

"Bit cliche for my taste." Torian glanced to his left, reprimand on the tip of his tongue, then swallowed the words when he saw who it belonged to.

Fynta stood with arms crossed over her chest, hard, blue eyes focused on the stage. Noara let out a faint squeak while Torian stared in disbelief. Questions rolled over one another like an ocean wave, but none managed to form words. Noara's fingers tightened, but Torian barely felt it. With a wink, Fynta started for the platform.

A whispered gasp rippled through the gathered members as Fynta edged through the crowd. The exact moment when Saresh realized who approached was evident by the sentence left hanging in the middle of a word. Torian watched, stepping closer to Aric and lowering his voice. "What's going on?"

"Just sit back and enjoy the show," the Cathar answered, lips twitching into a tight smirk even though his eye burned with rage. There was no humor in that expression, and the eye patch made the man look more savage than normal. Torian watched, sliding his fingers around Noara's, as the supposedly dead commander of the Alliance mounted the stage in front of close to a hundred witnesses.

Saresh let out a long breath, gathering her notes while she addressed Fynta. "I assume you know everything, then." She didn't beg or apologize, but faced her adversary with an indifference that hinged on suicidal. Fynta stopped directly in front of the former Chancellor, one hand resting on the grip of her blaster. With shoulders hunched forward, her eyes never wavered from their target.

When Saresh inhaled to speak, Fynta struck. What little of the Twi'lek's excuse that made it past her teeth was lost in spray of blood when Fynta's fist connected. Aric released a huff that might have been a laugh were it not for the rumbling undertones. None of the Republic soldiers on the stage moved to intercept Fynta.

Saresh staggered into the waiting arms of Theron Shan. "What do you want to do with her?" Torian could see the spy's fingers digging into the woman's flesh. There was a past here that Torian was ignorant of, years of pent up animosity for some sleight that hadn't made it through the Mandalorian rumor mill.

Fynta jerked her blaster free and pressed it to the chancellor's head in a single, fluid motion. Her lips curled into an inaudible snarl that didn't appear to phase the Twi'lek it was directed at.

"Execution, I expect." Saresh spat blood onto the polished steel platform next to Fynta's boot, words slurred by rapidly swelling lips. "It's what Vaylin would do. It's what _I_ would do."

"You get to live," Fynta answered in an emotionless tone as she slammed the weapon back into her hip holster. Only a slight curling of her lip gave any clue as to the fury she held at bay. "A long life as our esteemed guest, or until we think of something more creative. Theron, you know which cell to use." Her gaze flicked to the Saresh's escort. "Join up or clear out. You've got thirty minutes to decide."

While Theron ushered Saresh away with biting remarks about her accommodations, Torian watched her entourage huddle to discuss their options. He didn't realize that Fynta was finished until Aric stepped forward. She hopped from the stage with a weary thump and headed in their direction. Fynta's eyes never left Aric, making it clear to the crowd that the show was over. They dispersed with murmured well wishes and congratulatory pats on the shoulder, but Torian stayed.

Aric opened his arms a second before Fynta filled them. Torian took that to mean that they had overcome whatever hurdle Fynta had struggled with on Darvannis. At last, the tension in his chest released enough for him to manage a forced chuckle. "Verin says to call him when you get a chance."

Fynta nodded, offering a fist to Noara in greeting. The Jetii responded in the same way as someone who had been woken from sleep. Her closed fingers barely bumped Fynta's, eyes still wide. "What's this about a special cell?" Torian asked when it became apparent that the smaller woman didn't have anything pressing to say.

"It was mine," Fynta replied, looping her arm through Aric's while grinning at Torian. "I couldn't figure out how to escape, so, should be decent enough for Saresh."

"That's the one you shoved Theron in?" Aric's lack of surprise that his wife had been imprisoned by her own people would have been comical if it didn't cost Torian fifty more credits. Verin had bet that she'd be tied up before the end of the war by her War council. Torian needed to learn to stop gambling against Verin.

Fynta gave an awkward laugh. "We don't talk about it." She cringed. "I hit him with a rock when he offered me leniency and locked him inside. Took a bit for him to get over that one."

Aric chuckled, watching as the maintenance crew cleared the podium from the deck so that the mechanics could get back to work. There was a distant look in the Cathar's eye that made Torian feel like an intruder. His stomach growled with a reminder that he'd missed breakfast and gained Noara's attention.

"On that note," Torian began, keeping his eyes carefully away from Aric. "I'm sure you're tired from an eventful trip and the council will want a debrief soon. Better rest while you can."

"Torian's right." Aric's rumbled words sounded too eager to have been a passing agreement. He'd been looking for a reason to steal Fynta away from the spectacle they'd returned to. "We've had a long couple of days and my head's killing me. Time to turn in."

A strange expression flitted over Fynta's face. One that Torian didn't know well enough to decipher. It was gone in a blink to be replaced by her signature grin. "Noara, I'll call you later about that sparring match we had to reschedule. Keep a spot open for me?" The Jetii nodded, finally shedding the shock of her afternoon and dredging up a genuine smile. Fynta turned Aric towards the facility entrance, calling over her shoulder. "Torian, I'll see you at the council meeting."

Watching the commanders depart, Torian refocused on his younger companion. Noara still held his hand, and he decided to speak before she realized it and pulled away. Rubbing his stomach, Torian offered his warmest grin. "So, how about some lunch?"


	6. The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta gets a taste of her own medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Word Count: 3,838  
> Chapter Rating: T

**Odessen  
** **Commander's Quarters  
** **0200 Hours**

" _You're slipping."_

_Fynta spun in the darkness, searching for the source of the words. She'd known that Valkorion would be back, but had hoped she'd have time to deal with Arcann first. Fighting down her fear at being taken over again, Fynta bent her knees and prepared for an attack that she knew she couldn't defend against._

_Light shimmered to Fynta's right, coalescing into the too bright image of the old Emperor. Baring her teeth, Fynta stalked towards the man and tried to jam her finger into his chest. It went through, tipping her off balance. Valkorion chuckled and turned to greet Fynta as she rounded on him. "Get out of my head."_

" _Why?"_

_The question was so unexpected that Fynta straightened without answering. Tilting her head, her eyes narrowed while she tried to see the trap that he wove. "That's not a real question, right?"_

_Vakorion shook his head with a weary sigh. "All this time, and you still haven't learned your place." He paced a circle around Fynta while she watched for signs of deception. With an effort, she kept her thoughts away from her family lest Valkorion latch onto them. All the while, he paced. "You may bring my son to heel, but Vaylin will destroy everything you care about."_

_Fynta opened her mouth to argue but her jaws were sealed shut. "Silence." Valkorion's voice boomed through the emptiness, making Fynta cringe. She fought against his hold out of habit. If she ever stopped, he'd win. Valkorion ignored Fynta's efforts, pausing to look down his nose at her. "Now, I am forced to deal with matters beyond your comprehension, with subpar materials. When I return, I expect better."_

" _What do you mean?" Fynta's question echoed in the darkness. Valkorion was gone._

Fynta didn't wake with a gasp or gripping her Verpine. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, confused by her surroundings. Slowly her mind recognized the weight on her chest as the top half of Aric's body. He'd rolled over at some point, sleeping for the first time since they'd returned from Voss. Letting out a long breath, Fynta lifted an arm to rub her face. The Cathar rumbled in his sleep, hand sliding clumsily to rub her right thigh.

After securing Saresh in the brig, Fynta had ushered her husband into their quarters for some much needed rest. They'd forgone the shower when Aric protested that he was too tired to stand any longer. Fynta had shoved some pain tabs at him, then they'd fallen into bed. She didn't remember anything after that.

Now that she was awake, Fynta extricated herself from Aric's grasp and kissed away his mumbled protest. In the dark, he looked whole, a memory from years ago when they were just a couple of soldiers trying not to get caught in each other's beds. He wore no eye patch, and his worries were smoothed by sleep.

Once satisfied that Aric wouldn't wake, Fynta went downstairs to find something to distract herself. She grabbed a beer from the small chiller, but stopped before opening it. Alcohol wouldn't heal her wounded pride. As much as Fynta hated to admit it, Valkorion's dismissal irked her. For so long she'd been his sole focus. Now, he was distracted, leading Fynta on with endless riddles that only made sense after something happened. She needed to sort this out before it was too late to leash him.

Growling, Fynta slammed her bottle on the counter. She needed to hit something, to burn off the nervous energy that came from Valkorion's reappearance in her life. "Fierfek." Fynta's whispered curse shattered in the dark interior of her quarters. She decided to hit the bags; she wouldn't need to moderate her temper there.

Scratching a note on flimsy, Fynta left it on the pillow next to Aric and grabbed her gear. She tiptoed through their quarters, careful not to disturb the Cathar. Fynta refused to admit how much his brush with death on the Northern Plateau had unsettled her. Had Aric not been so stubborn, she'd have forced him into the medbay before letting him sleep. The medics had assured her there was nothing to cause immediate concern. So, Fynta let him rest.

The walk to the indoor training room was quiet this time of night. Only assigned work crews or the desperate fleeing sleep were wandering the halls. Fynta had made enough of these early morning trips to know how to avoid anyone who might want to chat.

After reaching her destination, Fynta settled into a series of familiar stretches, then started on the bag. Each jolt that traveled through her arms was a welcome reminder that she was capable of fighting, no matter who the adversary may be. Without effort, strategies for tracking Vaylin and Arcann built upon one another. When one failed, Fynta constructed another on its ruins. There was an answer in one of the layers, she just had to find it. Fynta lost herself to the rhythmic sensation of punching the hell out of something.

"Commander?"

The lilting accent of Master Kaeto Vaa jerked Fynta out of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing for the first time that she was panting and her shoulders ached. The Togruta glanced at Fynta's hands, prompting her to do the same. Heat flooded up her neck as she curled the fingers closed. A thin layer of watery blood coated the back of Fynta's knuckles. The gloves that she should have been wearing sat on the bench where she'd left them, mocking her with their disuse.

Sighing, Fynta tucked the evidence of her neglect behind her back and tried to grin at Kaeto. "What brings you down at this Force-be-damned hour?"

Kaeto wasn't deterred. Holding out her hands, the Togruta waited until Fynta surrendered her knuckles for inspection. "You'll need to get these seen to or you won't have use of your fingers for a few days." Fynta nodded, chastened by a lesson her parents had drilled into her from a young age. One she too often forgot. The scars on Fynta's knuckles told of a reckless existence and too many moments just like this.

Kaeto watched Fynta's hand flex. "To answer your question…" Lavender eyes rose, the sadness in them obvious enough to make Fynta's chest clench. "You did."

Fynta's head tilted as Kaeto smiled and released her hands. "Nightmares plague everyone here. None have joined the alliance without cause, and as such, I don't sleep often." The woman said it as a fact, not to gain sympathy. Fynta hadn't considered the impact on someone attuned to people's emotions. During their waking hours, most could bury their demons. They were defenseless in sleep, and Kaeto had no protection from the waves of unguarded feelings.

"Shab," Fynta breathed.

Kaeto nodded. "I am more susceptible to yours, as of late." The Togruta tipped her head to match Fynta's expression, purple banded lekku sliding over one shoulder. "Any idea why that might be?"

_Because Valkorion was in your head too_ , Fynta thought, but she didn't say it. Kaeto had only spoken of her time in captivity once, on Yavin 4 before facing Revan. Fynta cleared her throat. "He's...trying to communicate again." Fynta didn't clarify who _he_ was. Kaeto knew, and the Alliance walls had ears. The War Council had kept the former Emperor's presence secret from the general population. For once, Fynta agreed.

"So, his absence wasn't permanent." Kaeto's voice held an icy note that Fynta hadn't heard before. "Any adverse effects?"

Fynta shrugged and found a thread in her sleeve to pick at. She'd worn her kute, the tight undershirt that protected her skin from the beskar, but it was beginning to fray. "It's different than before. Glimpses of things that haven't happened rather than tampering with my memories. He speaks about the storm coming to a head soon, then vanishes for days at a time to deal with something. Other times, he doesn't show me anything, he just...talks."

Growling in frustration, Fynta dropped her arms. "Maybe I'm just going insane. Wouldn't that put a chink in his plans?"

A patient smile slid onto Kaeto's face when she replied. "We all feel that way from time to time." The Togruta tapped the center of Fynta's forehead, startling her off the slippery slope into self-pity. "Any idea where he goes?"

Fynta flapped a hand at Kaeto's jab and sighed. "None, and he's not forthcoming when I ask, other than to tell me what a shitty student I make. Apparently, I'm irritating on all levels. Lana should be pleased."

Kaeto's chuckle washed over Fynta, leaving a sense of warmth in its wake. A yawn worked up her throat and visions of a soft mattress and Aric's company filled her thoughts. "Go rest," Kaeto whispered, urging Fynta towards her gear with a hand in the center of her back. "Take these moments with your husband to steel yourself for the battles to come."

"That sounds like a great idea." Fynta's mind turned towards bed, crowding out the frustrations from earlier. She was halfway down the hall before the desire to sleep faded. Stopping, Fynta muttered over her shoulder. "Cheater." It was easy to let down her guard around Kaeto, to allow the former Jedi to worm past her defenses. Thank the Manda Kaeto was a good woman with a heart of service. She'd have made a terrifying Sith.

Fynta still had three hours before she had to start her day and the feel of Aric's inhuman warmth against her stiff muscles sounded amazing. When she slipped back into their quarters, the lights were off and Aric's boots were by the door. Letting out a sigh of relief, Fynta kicked off hers and padded up the stairs. Aric's bare back faced the doorway, shoulders uncovered and blankets bunched around his waist.

Fynta slid into bed and wrapped her arm around Aric. She snuggled close, inhaling his scent as she readied her body for sleep. Within minutes, a sweat broke out on her forehead. Fynta shifted, trying not to jostle her husband too much. She couldn't lay still.

Sitting up, Fynta glanced over at her Aric. The Cathar's didn't appear to mind the warmth of their room. Maybe she was still overheated from her training. Content to wait it out, Fynta flopped onto her back.

The mattress shifted with her weight, unsteadying Aric. He tipped from his side onto his stomach without waking. Aric's arm flopped across the bed toward Fynta, but he didn't pull her closer. Fynta frowned and decided to see how deep into sleep he was. "Riduur?"

Silence answered. Fynta scrambled onto her knees and rolled Aric onto his back. The fur lay flush against his body where the mattress had touched it, and when Fynta pressed a palm against Aric's cheek, his breath felt warmer than usual. She shook Aric's shoulders, pulling him half-upright while trying to force him to consciousness.

Fynta's words grew more frantic with each pointless command to wake up. Panic closed her throat. When she realized that the situation was more serious than she could manage on her own, a cold peace settled over her. It smothered the fear, replacing it with focus.

Snatching her comm, Fynta dialed the medbay. She answered questions in a competent tone that revealed nothing of the terrifying thoughts attempting to break through. Once satisfied that the medical team was en route, Fynta pulled Aric into her lap.

In the quiet that followed, fear and uncertainty crept back in. Fynta smoothed the fur away from Aric's forehead. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. "We've gotten through worse, this is nothing." The words sounded as hollow as Fynta felt, but she couldn't stop them. The silence was too overwhelming as she watched the door, waiting for help to arrive. "Just hold on a little longer." Fynta murmured.

_Don't leave me, Riduur._

An uncomfortable thought shattered Fynta's calm. Where did Cathar go when they entered the afterlife? For the first time, she realized that there would be no place in the Manda for him. Tears had just begun to drip from her cheeks when the door opened and medics pried Aric out of her arms.

**Odessen  
** **Residential Wing  
** **0600 Hours**

Theron rubbed his eyes. He'd slept for nearly eight hours, a record given the past few months, and couldn't decide if he felt better or hungover. Having woken to an empty bed, Theron forced himself to eat something, then wandered into the main living space to see what he'd missed. Fynta barreled past Theron without acknowledging his half-hearted wave or making some smart assed comment about his hair sticking out in every direction.

"What's her deal?" Theron asked as the door snapped shut behind the woman. He wondered if it was going to be one of those days.

"I thought you'd still be in bed," Zolah remarked from her chair, ignoring Theron's question. Her knees were pulled against her chest, bare toes hanging over the edge of the cushion while she read daily reports on the datapad propped on her thighs.

Theron let himself enjoy the moment of domestic bliss before following the smell of caf into the kitchen. "Me too, but I got lonely." Memories of soft kisses turned into rougher foreplay, then culminated into the satisfied slumber of post-coital bliss pushed to the forefront of Theron's thoughts. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the loose-limbed feeling of a restful night after great sex. "Got cold," he added, already missing the press of two, familiar bodies against his as he drifted. Theron hadn't expected both Zolah and Vector to stay all night, but waking to find one of his lovers still available would have been nice.

"I thought you wouldn't notice after the night you had," Zolah called with a hint of a smile that Theron heard in her voice. He let himself sink into the remembered gentleness of Vector's hands as they coaxed him to the edge time and time again before finally plunging him into oblivion. Followed by the motion of Zolah's hips while her tongue worked in ways that shouldn't be possible. A shiver crawled up Theron's spine, making him ache for more.

Sauntering back into the sitting room with caf in hand, Theron's easy smile and the suggestion that they all take the day off died on the tip of his tongue. Vector scowled at his datapad, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in a way that Theron knew meant bad news. "What?"

"Major Jorgan is in the medbay," Vector responded without looking up. Theron felt his jaw go slack, then snapped it shut and crossed the room to look over the Joiner's shoulder. It was a medical report, one featuring phrases like _kolto tank_ and _sedation._

Theron's euphoric fantasies evaporated in a cold splash of reality. "What happened?"

"He developed an infection," Zolah responded, still unmoved, both physically and emotionally, by the commander's newest catastrophe. "Perhaps, if they'd reported to the medbay first, instead of sneaking off to quarters, this could have been avoided. As it stands, Fynta's asked me to keep an eye on things while she deals with the specifics of Aric's treatment. As if I don't already."

Shoving from the chair, Zolah vanished into the kitchen. Theron had heard that tone more than enough times to understand when it was best to leave her alone. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Vector. "Is it from the wounds he took on Voss?"

"It would seem." Lines appeared in Vector's brow. "The commander's song is—off. We do not believe that this is the cause. We have seen Fynta distraught before, but there is something else."

Theron settled on the chair that Zolah had vacated, dropping his voice. "Can you keep an eye on that for me? You're the only one she won't hit."

The lines of concern smoothed when Vector's lips twitched into a secret smile. Zolah returned with a fresh mug of steaming liquid and attention glued to her datapad. "If you need me, I'll be in the ops room." She didn't wait for an answer from either man, vanishing from the room in a storm of irritation and herbal tea.

Theron felt a grin slide onto his face. "I don't envy the techs today."

"Indeed." Vector tucked his device away and reached for the jacket draped over the sofa. "We must see to the new arrivals." After donning the coat, he bent to kiss Theron's cheek. "Rest a while longer."

Theron watched the Joiner leave, then looked around the empty room. In a matter of ten minutes, he'd gone from fantasies of a day off to the reminder that life in the Alliance waited for no one. Blowing air between his lips, Theron sipped his caf and listened to the gentle hum of recirculated air whistling through empty apartment vents.

**Odessen**  
 **Medbay  
** **0700 Hours**

Fynta rubbed her face to force moisture back into her dry eyes. She had no idea of the actual time she'd spent in here, but assumed it was somewhere around eternity judging by the throbbing headache and pinch in her back. She'd never been a good patient, but sitting on this side of the medtable was so much worse.

"It is always like this?" Fynta huffed, folding her arms across her chest and stretching her legs to mimic Cormac's position.

The big man had arrived thirty minutes after Aric had been dropped into the kolto tank in nothing more than a pair of briefs for modesty sake. Two chairs had been brought into the back room when it became clear that neither Fynta nor Cormac had any intention of leaving.

Now, they waited while Aric floated in a line of three other members of the alliance that Fynta didn't recognize. They weren't from Voss; they'd been shot down above Alderaan by drones attempting to restore the weapon that Fynta had destroyed months back. She didn't know which feeling sat worse, that she didn't know their faces, or that they'd been injured fighting under her command in a battle she didn't even realize had taken place.

Cormac stretched, groaning at the pop that emanated from his spine. "Boring? Yeah, pretty much. This is the first infection that I've dealt with though. Mostly we were just waiting on you to wake up and tell us to stop sitting on our shebs."

A tired huff of laughter found its way out of Fynta's chest, but it was weak. She appreciated the effort that Cormac put into keeping her spirits up, but could hear the tension in his voice. He was as scared as she was, on the verge of losing an old friend and one of two final members of a squad that he thought of as family.

Shoving to her feet, Fynta approached the tank to watch her husband ripple behind the glass. He'd be furious about how the medication clung to his fur, berating himself for letting matters get this far. Sighing, Fynta thumped her forehead against the glass. "I should have noticed that he was sick."

"Don't do that." Cormac shifted in the too small chair and rubbed at the knee still cocooned by a brace. "This shit happens, and you two haven't slowed down long enough to notice anything. Jorgan probably just thought he was tired."

"He wouldn't eat." Fynta closed her eyes and sighed before turning to her friend. "And the headaches. That should have been a sign, right?"

Cormac held up a finger. "First off, you're the one who's always hungry after a battle. The rest of us just want to sleep. Secondly," he added another finger, then spread his hands to either side. "Headaches are a common side effect of being blown up."

Fynta managed a smirk at the routine diagnosis of kinetic energy based injuries. Fierfek, she'd dragged so many good people into her chaotic, messed up existence. Cormac patted the chair next to him with a tight smile. "You did all you could, boss. Stop beating yourself up and try to relax a little. They say a person can feel the tension around them while healing."

"Were you always so superstitious?" Fynta snorted, but she complied, flopping into a chair hard enough to scrape the legs back a few inches. Cormac winced at the sound, then patted her thigh.

They sat in silence until Fynta couldn't stand it any longer. "How does he do it?" How many times had Aric sat by her bedside, or a comm, and waited to find out whether or not she'd survived another brazen antic? When Fynta looked over, a shadow covered Cormac's normally jolly features and she realized that it wasn't just Aric, but all of them. Elara monitored Fynta's vitals while Cormac and Aric waited for her prognosis. She swallowed her guilt, expelling it in the next breath. "How do you all do it?"

"Faith, boss." Cormac's attention was on Jorgan while he spoke, but Fynta heard a sadness that she'd never known existed. With a stiff nod, he flashed a grin to cover his slip into normal, human emotion. "We'll work this out, then put our family back together."

"Di'kut," Fynta teased as she stood. There was nothing that she could say to bring back the years stolen from them or reunite Cormac with his wife and son. Fynta spoke through actions, and in that moment, she knew what language to use.

Stopping behind Cormac's chair, Fynta bent forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "I missed you, vod." Her lips were close enough to his ear that she didn't have to say it loud enough for anyone else to hear. Tightening the embrace, Fynta held Cormac and watched Aric's unconscious form in the tank.

Slowly, one of Cormac's hands covered the arms linked around his neck. His fingers dug in with the desperation of a man trying to break the hold even while securing it. Moisture cooled Fynta's skin, but she didn't comment on it. Finally, in a shaky sigh, Cormac found his voice. "I missed you too, boss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to Dimigex for her amazing betaing and to Tish for helping me tweak that tiny detail that had been bugging me.


	7. Entropy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gravestone gets hijacked, Fynta gets left out of the loop, Jorgan wakes to some not so great news, Koth and Theron are idiots.

**Odessen  
Enclave  
** **Residential Quarters  
** **0330 Hours**

Kozen woke to an empty bed. Mentally reaching out, the Sith found his lover in the next room, lost in meditation. Kaeto did that often these days. The swell of minds and emotions filling their once empty mountain assaulted her from every angle. It was worse when Kozen slept; the buffer of strength that he added to hers slipped whenever his mind rested.

Pulling back the blankets, Kozen strode from their bedroom and into the sitting space that Kaeto had created for inner silence. He didn't speak, just folded onto the floor and inhaled. Kozen focused on his heartbeat, willing it to slowness while sinking into the Force. Kaeto's mind called to him, opening with minimal prodding.

An image formed, soft purples interspersed with searing heat. Sound followed on its heels, a familiar hum in the back of his consciousness. Kozen withdrew from Kaeto's mind, leveling her with a disbelieving stare. "You would really give them up?"

The Togruta inhaled, chest expanding as she came back to herself. Pale eyes blinked in confusion, then found his face. "Why should I keep them?"

Kaeto sighed and climbed to her feet with a gracefulness that Kozen admired. She went to the chest on one side of the room and flipped open the lid. Kozen watched his lover brush her fingers over the weapons that she hadn't touched in years. Weapons that had borne her through countless hardships and had once been considered an extension of herself. Yet now, she could barely stand to look at them; she didn't even bother to lock the lid anymore.

Kozen joined Kaeto. He remembered the beauty of those beams of purple light blurring through the air. She had set them aside after Ziost, convinced that her time as a Jedi had passed, and thus, she no longer deserved them. Kozen placed his hand over hers. "You built them. They carry a part of you within."

"A broken piece," Kaeto sighed. She kept her emotions in check, locked down like the Jedi that she'd been trained to be.

"Changed, not broken," Kozen growled, pulling Kaeto away from the relics of her past. He led the Togruta towards the wall where her durasteel blades were mounted. "You've evolved past the need for Jedi platitudes. You are a warrior; neither light, nor dark, but balanced somewhere between."

Kaeto refused to look at the retractable swords that she used in place of her lightsabers. "And have you evolved past the need for rage enhanced strength?"

"You know I have." Kozen brushed his knuckles along Kaeto's montral, down to the tip of her lek. "We have changed one another, irreparably." It was the first time that Kozen had admitted out loud that he was no longer wholly Sith. Everything that he'd known since childhood had shifted since Kaeto entered his life. They were two sides of the same coin, standing on its end.

Kaeto took Kozen's hand and flipped it over, kissing his wrist. "So we have." Her eyes drifted back to the case, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Those weapons have been dormant for too long and a battle rages on the horizon."

Kozen and Kaeto stood, hands clasped while they stared at the last remnant of Kaeto's former identity. Giving them away meant that she was finally ready to denounce her claim on the Jedi Council, flimsy though it may be. She would become something else, a thing that not even Kozen understood. For all the times that he'd slipped into her mind and body, a depth remained that he hadn't experienced yet. Some corner that she refused to explore, and thus, he was incapable of reaching.

"Who?" Kozen knew that his lover had someone in mind. The impulsive girl who rushed foolishly into danger had died while in the emperor's care. Kaeto had become a planner, never moving without first knowing which way to go.

Kaeto reached out a hand, snapping the lid shut with a twitch of her fingers. "There is a young Jedi who has taken with our Commander and her Mandalorian allies. Noara Starspark. Her lightsabers were lost sometime during her exile. She misses them, as any Jedi would." Kaeto's smile turned whimsical. "This feels right."

"If it will give you peace, I will not stand in the way." Kozen stepped back, lifting his hands to display empty palms. It had been their sign for peace for years. "Once the thing is done, it can not be reversed."

Kaeto crossed the room and lifted the chest. "Then, let it be finished."

**Odessen  
Residential Quarters  
** **0800 Hours**

"We have a problem."

Theron rolled his head back to stare at an inverted Lana Beniko. He righted himself and shoved away from the desk in the back of his alcove. "I thought we agreed on no crises before lunch," With a few taps to his datapad, Theron alerted Zolah to the unknown threat, then looked up at Lana with bored resignation.

The Sith's lips pressed into a line so tight that her entire mouth vanished behind the scowl. "Koth didn't get the memo. Listen."

" _Mayday! Mayday! This is cargo freighter Ridala. Does anybody copy?"_

The door opened to reveal Zolah, arriving in time to hear Koth's answer to the distress signal over playback. " _This is the Gravestone. We've got your back Ridala, you okay?"_

The conversation that followed detailed an attack by the Eternal Fleet, then discussions about how to secure emergency repairs. Lana ended the feed when it faded to static and stared at Theron with an expectant expression honed over long years. He blew air between his lips and ran both hands through his hair. "How long have they been dark?"

"Three hours." The bags under Lana's eyes suggested that she'd tried to solve this on her own and failed. The damn woman never _had_ followed her own advice about working as a team. "The tracking beacon is still active, so we must expect a trap. Losing Koth _and_ the _Gravestone_ is not an option, however."

Zolah read over the Sith's shoulder, angling to replay the message without asking. It was a sign of how comfortable they'd become around one another that Lana didn't object. "How far out are the coordinates?"

"I've sent them to you both. If this is Vaylin, we need to act cautiously," Lana answered, offering her datapad to the Chiss without hesitation while she focused on Theron. "Normally, I'd say have Fynta put a team together, but under the circumstances…"

"Yeah," Theron agreed. "She won't leave Jorgan right now, and I don't feel great about asking her too. Who else do we have?"

Lana folded her arms over her chest, one finger tapping her chin the way it did when she was mulling over their options. "I've roused Master Kaeto and Darth Kozen. Also, I've tasked Felix and Torian with gathering soldiers they trust to infiltrate the _Gravestone_ should it have fallen into enemy hands."

Standing, Theron snagged the jacket he'd folded over the back of his chair. All around him, techs worked in the sweatshop that made up the information hub of the Alliance. With around the clock monitoring, their computers put out too much heat for the base's cooling system to keep up with. "I'll meet you in the hangar in twenty."

Zolah's eyes snapped up from the screen, but Theron spoke over the objection forming in her glare. "We're going to need someone who can plug into the _Gravestone_ if Koth is incapacitated." He didn't relish the idea of rushing back into combat, but she was the only other option. "I'll be fine."

Changing subjects, Theron shoved various wires and clamps into his pockets. The standard tools of his trade. He'd take his slicing kit over Fynta's bulky armor any day. "Are we at least going to inform the commander that her starship is missing and a team is going after it?" Distracted or not, Fynta would be pissed to learn that they'd left without offering her a spot on the team.

"She'd be a liability," Zolah answered in that disconnected way she used when approaching a dilemma. Taking a breath, the once notorious Cipher Nine returned her attention to Lana's datapad. "Leave her to Vector and me. We'll handle it."

Theron considered arguing, then thought better of it. He was shit at stuff like what Fynta was going through. Better for him to get out there and score a win for the Alliance rather than attempting a pep talk. "Yeah, sounds good. Lana, see you in twenty?"

"Make it fifteen," the Sith called, already walking towards the door. She rounded the corner, leaving Zolah and Theron alone with a dozen other techs who plodded away at their devices, either ignorant to what had just happened or pretending to be.

Zolah straightened Theron's jacket collar. "Go, and be safe. I'll give Vector your love."

Theron cleared his throat, trying not to look around for curved lips and hidden smirks on the faces of his underlings, and answered with a quick kiss that he'd probably regret later for not turning it into something more memorable. He slapped a crooked grin into place. "We'll be back before you know it."

Iresso met Theron in the hallway, falling in step without looking up from his datapad. "My guys will be ready for wheels up in ten. How's Jorgan?"

"What do you know?" Theron asked, refusing to admit that Iresso might have more information about what was going on with the Cathar than he did. Judging by the smirk on Felix's face, he'd guessed as much.

"Only that Fynta called and told me to be on standby." Felix finished whatever he'd been working on and tucked the datapad into a pouch on his armor. "Jorgan's got an infection, some holdover from that eye injury on Voss. He's in a kolto tank right now, and she's not leaving him."

Theron nodded, pleased that he wasn't completely out of the loop. "They have a timetable yet?"

Iresso shook his head, then punched Theron's shoulder in a way that conveyed brotherhood. "But hey, this is a rescue mission. We got this."

Theron nodded, unwillingly bolstered by the lieutenant's power of enthusiasm. The knot in his chest loosened enough to draw a full breath, and Theron knew that wasn't by accident. Felix Iresso had an outstanding record—despite the numerous transfers—and his men respected him. It was no wonder that Fynta had taken to him so quickly.

"Ready to get this shit started?" Pierce called from the top of the ramp. Theron blinked, surprised by the distance he and Iresso had covered in such a short amount of time.

Theron didn't know much about the Imperial apart from that he'd traveled with Kozen, worked on a lot of black ops missions, and Fynta liked him. Theron had originally worried that there might be some fallout from the Bastion situation on Corellia, but the soldiers had put it behind them and collaborated to face a new threat. Theron supposed that anyone who traveled with the Emperor's Wrath would know how to deal with someone like Vaylin, Felix was right. They had this.

Satisfied, Theron dropped his pack by the chair at the end of the row of seats aboard the shuttle. He fastened the straps, then looked out the door in time to see Zolah and Vector enter the hangar. Lifting a hand, he bid farewell to his lovers and hoped it wasn't for the last time.

**Odessen  
** **Medical Wing  
** **0930 Hours**

_Jorgan wheeled around, rifle pressed against his shoulder as he shouted orders to keep moving. Shadows danced across his peripheral vision, blinking in and out of existence while he pushed his squad on. Kanner's face, full of determined ambition, flicked into view a second before being swallowed by flames and falling debris. Jorgan's scream stuck in his throat._

_Someone grabbed Jorgan's arm, tugging him into a full run. Fynta ducked behind an obscure shelter, her mouth moving soundlessly. Jorgan tried to read her lips only to realize that he couldn't. Trusting her pointing finger, he spun to open fire._

_Aric expected the noise of battle, but only a faint hiss reached his ears. The fur rose on the back of his neck as he turned to tell Fynta that they needed to move, but it was Torv, a wide, sloppy grin and a bottle of bourbon in hand. He threw his head back to laugh, then kept falling until a decorative casket swallowed him. Jorgan remembered the funeral, the stale smell of his dress uniform, and the way that his jaw hurt from the effort of hiding his pain afterwards. Torv had deserved better, they all did._

_Laughter, to the right. Jorgan wheeled around, planting the butt of his rifle against his shoulder. He called for Fynta, but she was gone too, lost to the darkness of Wild Space long ago. When Aric looked around for help, he was alone. His rifle clicked, misfiring even though he'd just checked it. A tide of shadow rolled towards him, laughing with high pitched insanity and multiplying by the second. Aric lowered his rifle and waited to be crushed beneath it._

Jorgan's tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth. Sandpaper coated his throat, and the mere thought of movement sent splintering pain through his skull. His pulse raced around his body like some drunken swoop bike punk while visions of his former squad mingled with the delusions of things that had never happened.

Jorgan tried to push beyond the haze to identify where he was, searching for something real. He picked out the smell of disinfectant and the blaring chime of medical equipment.

_Medbay_. The word echoed off the cavernous walls of his mind.

"When?" Fynta's voice sliced through the atmosphere like a bolt of lightning. Aric's body came awake at once, but nothing moved. He couldn't even open his eyes. "Felix has command? Okay, good. Wait—what the hell does Theron think _he's_ doing?"

Jorgan caught snatches of the conversation, a murmured answer to each question. Fynta growled. "That di'kut is going to get himself killed. Fine, keep me updated."

The room grew quiet, but Jorgan felt a presence beside him. He thought it was Fynta until the familiar clank of her prosthetic foot approached from the opposite side. "Well, looks like Vaylin made her move. Theron and Lana took a strike team to reclaim the Gravestone." Metal scraped against the floor; she must have flopped into a chair in disgust. "I should be there."

"No." The voice was firm, deep. _Cormac_. "You're right where you belong."

Fynta sighed, and Aric's sluggish thoughts tried to parse out the meaning of what he'd heard. The longer he fought the pull of sleep, the more pain made it an impossibility. He surrendered, Fynta's voice growing softer, barely above a whisper in the long tunnel separating them.

Consciousness came easier the second time. Jorgan managed to force an eye open enough to see Cormac slumped against the wall, mouth open while he snored. A warm weight pressed into Jorgan's side, dragging his gaze in that direction. Hair tickled his nose on the inhale, Fynta's scent scattering the vivid dreams that haunted his sleep.

Tightening his arm cost Jorgan monumental effort, but it was enough. Fynta yawned, then jerked upright when she realized that he was awake. "Fierfek." Jorgan blinked a few times to clear his blurry sight, but the medication saturating his system made the room look skewed, shifting everything further left than felt natural. Then, Fynta's lips were on his, a welcome distraction for as long as it lasted.

"All right, all right," Cormac laughed. "Get a room, yeah?" Fynta pulled back to reveal the large man in the middle of a stretch. Jorgan followed the jerky motion, fighting down a surge of nausea. He clamped his eyes shut when Cormac leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Like that time we jumped off a Thranta into a tree," Jorgan rasped, but he couldn't resist a sloppy attempt at the smile that Cormac's laughter encouraged.

Jorgan lifted his hand to rub his face, but Fynta caught it between hers. "No touching. You need time to heal." The forced optimism in her voice warned Jorgan of impending bad news. Fynta tucked his hand into her lap, clasped between her fingers. They might have trembled, or maybe it was the medication making him feel unstable. She swallowed, expression schooled into casual acceptance. "You had an infection, a bad one by the time we got here. Why didn't you say anything?"

Cormac snorted, but Jorgan and Fynta ignored him. Aric's stomach lurched again, forcing him to swallow before attempting to speak. "What happened?"

Fynta's mouth opened, then closed. Cormac cleared his throat, one large hand resting on Jorgan's knee. "That eye injury turned septic. Some shrapnel got missed and festered. It's not the worst news, but it could be better."

Jorgan snatched his hand from Fynta's and found the bandage covering the right half of his face. She picked up the explanation, making no move to stop him. "There's still a slim chance that your sight could return in that eye, but it doesn't look promising. I'm so sorry, riduur. I should have insisted that you go to the medcenter immediately. I—" Cormac's hand moved from Jorgan to Fynta with a subtle shake of his head. She clamped her mouth shut.

Letting his fingers go limp, Aric stared at his wife. He wanted to ask what they were going to do. How would he serve the Alliance, fight by her side, with only one eye? Cormac cleared his throat and painted on a massive grin. "Hey, we'll get it figured out. One thing at a time, like we do."

Jorgan allowed Cromac's confidence to flow over him, turning his frantic thoughts away from what he couldn't control and on to other business. "What's going on with Vaylin?" He remembered that something had happened, but the details were vague.

Fynta and Cormac looked at one another, some silent, understanding passing between them. Jorgan nearly snapped that he wasn't an invalid when Fynta answered. "She hijacked the _Gravestone,_ and we've been comms dark for three hours."

"You've sent scouts?" Jorgan knew the answer, but he needed to focus on something outside of his personal circumstances.

"Yeah, nothing." Fynta stood and paced the room. The rhythm of her metal foot threw Aric's priorities into sharp focus. She'd lost her leg years ago in the line of duty, and he remembered the hell that had been her rehabilitation. Whatever his outcome, Jorgan vowed to handle it with more grace than she had. That set the bar at a reasonable height.

Fynta turned and pointed at the wall, presumably in the direction of the War Room. "They just vanished, not even a hyperspace signal for us to track. Zolah's been at it for hours. Eventually, I'll have to free her minions."

"Send Vector," Cormac suggested as he leaned back in his chair. "No sense in the Alpha Females getting into it at a time like this."

Fynta snapped her fingers. "Good idea. Until then, we need to keep the Alliance from falling apart." She stopped beside Aric's bed, her hand resting on his thigh. "I need to make an appearance in the War Room. I've neglected my responsibilities for too long."

Jorgan nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." There was a joke in there if Fynta wanted to search for it. Had their situations been reversed, Aric would have to put an armed guard outside her door to ensure that she stayed in bed.

With a chuckle, Fynta leaned forward to brush her lips across his with the promise to return as soon as possible. Jorgan expected Cormac to follow, but the man didn't move to get up. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to leave, Jorgan lifted a brow. "You don't have to babysit me."

Cormac knocked on the brace around his leg. "Not like I'm any good elsewhere." A stupid grin spread across the big man's face. "Besides, here, I get to boss _you_ around."

Jorgan elevated the mattress head and folded his arms. He wondered if a single eyed glare could convey all the irritation he'd been able to with both. Cormac's grin only widened. Jorgan needed a shiny new recruit to test it on, not a man who'd seen him at his worst and stuck around regardless. That was an experiment for another time

Sighing, Aric yawned and tried to make himself more comfortable on the bed. "So, catch me up on what I've missed."

**Odessen**  
 **War Room  
** **1000 Hours**

Zolah hated it when Watchers hovered over their agents. It had been one of the few things to truly grate on her nerves as a cadet, and a driving force for her to become an independent agent. She wanted to get rid of that pesky sensation of someone breathing down her neck. The irony of how that had ended wasn't lost on her, either.

"Check that data burst," Zolah instructed, leaning over the back of a technician's chair. He tensed, but Zolah ignored it. Watchers had their reasons back then, now, she had hers.

Glancing at the chrono, Zolah's attention was drawn to the huddled conversation beneath it. Fynta had arrived an hour ago, blustering and full of demands. Only Vector's smooth deflection had steered the commander away from Zolah. She'd have thrown the infuriating woman out. The War Room was Zolah's domain while Fynta's should remain on the battlefield.

"False lead, ma'am," the tech reported.

Zolah sighed and pushed away from the desk. "Keep searching." Her voice pitched loud enough for the entire room to hear. "No matter how insignificant, every piece of data is suspect."

A chorus of ascent answered from techs who barely lifted their faces from their screens. Anything else that she did would only serve as a distraction. Zolah squared shoulders that felt the weight of each passing minute and forced herself to leave her team alone.

Deciding that she couldn't ignore the commander of the Alliance any longer, Zolah started towards the chrono. It ticked off the seconds, counting out the time since they'd lost contact with the _Gravestone_. Three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and fifteen seconds. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen...

"I'd ask if there was anything new, but judging by the murderous look on your face, I can guess." Zolah blinked at Fynta when the woman spoke. It took effort not to glance back at the chrono. Zolah felt that if she stopped watching the passage of time, she was somehow abandoning her lost team.

Jaw clenched, Zolah shook her head. "Notiac can still feel Kaeto's lifeforce, though she says it is faint."

"That's good news, at least," Fynta replied, though her attention was elsewhere. Zolah assumed back in the medbay with her husband. She never understood soldiers and their frivolous disregard for their health. Then again, Theron wasn't much better. Perhaps it was a flaw in the Republic instead of a particular type of person.

"What about Lana," Fynta asked, changing topics without warning. "They're close, right?" Zolah reminded herself that Fynta's mind rarely worked the way she'd expected. Perhaps she hadn't been longing to return to the medbay after all, merely looking for another angle to the problem.

The relationship between Lana and Notiac was one of the worst kept secrets in the Alliance, though the women were impressive in their secrecy. According to Vector, it had little to do with stigma and more about their preference for keeping their personal and professional lives separate. Sith and Jedi could be seen having a drink together, even dinner in the cantina. But, only after hours.

"She didn't speak about Lana." Zolah's chest tightened with unexpected dread. Did that mean that Lana had been killed, or had the group been separated to the point that Lana was simply out of reach? "I will check with Solish about Darth Kozen, as well. They've worked together for years, and he is not an essence easily ignored, I'm told."

Fynta snorted. "Yeah, I bet she isn't either." Zolah shrugged, adding new items to a list that had grown past her mind's ability to contain. "Okay, let's take a headcount of who is missing and see if we can nail down other ways to pinpoint their location. I—"

A tech shot to her feet. "Incoming transmission from Agent Shan."

Zolah and Fynta rushed for the holotable together, but Fynta deferred giving orders. "Confirm and transfer here." Later, Zolah would appreciate once more having a figurehead who knew when to keep her mouth shut. For now, there was only this task.

"Confirmed," the tech announced, seated on the edge of her chair. Zolah motioned for the images to be put on the main holoplatform so that she could see them in detail.

"Theron," Zolah began, taking a breath for patience. "What is your situation?"

The angle shifted to one of the others' viewpoints, Lieutenant Iresso, according to the tag at the bottom of the screen. A patrol of Skytroopers passed, clanking down the hallway on heavy, metal feet. "You sure that I can't shoot just one of them?" Pierce whispered.

"Afraid not," Kaeto answered. "We need the element of surprise for Theron's plan to work. Please resist."

The man's mic connected again, but Zolah cut in. "So." She doubted it would have been more than the standard battlefield banter, nothing of value to the mission. "What _is_ this plan?"

"We're cut off from Koth's position by some disengaged power conduits." The camera angle shifted again, focusing on Torian as he peeked around the corner. Theron grew quiet until the Mandalorian gave an all clear signal, then the feed jarred as they moved forward. Iresso kept Theron in view. Once behind new cover, he looked directly into the soldier's camera. "I'm going to hijack a mouse droid and flip them back on."

Zolah waited, then closed her eyes and steepled both hands against the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me there is more." Fynta snickered, quickly hiding it behind an upraised fist as she turned it into an unconvincing cough.

"There will be." Theron's voice sounded indignant. Zolah knew better than to berate him for being an idiot over an open comm, but the temptation was strong. "We're here, I'll check in once it's done."

The feed went dark, and Zolah chewed her nail until a gentle hand settled on hers. "You are unusually nervous." Vector kept his voice low enough that eavesdroppers wouldn't overhear, but Fynta moved closer.

Zolah felt something crack at the woman's unwelcome proximity and answered in a barely audible hiss. "They have gone to retake the ship from Vaylin with only Lana, a denounced Jedi, and the former Wrath as protection against a child with untold Force abilities." Zolah tried to ease the sharpness of her tone and failed. "A handful of Force-null soldiers will not be enough."

"They have all battled Force users before," Vector countered. "Have faith. Lana wouldn't have agreed to the roster if she didn't foresee favorable odds."

"Not to mention, Kozen and Kaeto make a terrifying team," Fynta offered. "Don't discount our _denounced Jedi_ so quickly, she's got her own bones to pick with Valkorion's family." A strange expression crossed Fynta's face, registered as an afterthought by years of intelligence training, then gone as quickly as it had surfaced.

Zolah threw her hands up, then clasped them in front of her when the action drew too many curious glances. She needed to maintain an air of calm control if the worst came to pass. "That's my point," she answered in a murmur. "This roster made no sense. Factor in that Koth had civilians on board already. If we lose that ship, not only will it take half our war council, but also the only weapon we have that can keep the Eternal Fleet at bay."

Fynta leaned against the holotable, blocking Zolah from the scrutiny of the techs closest to them. A casual shrug that managed to portray a facade of confidence while ensuring no one could read their lips. "Felix and Pierce have both taken down Force users. They have lived with them for years, and have more operational knowledge on strengths and weaknesses than anyone in this room. Torian is a Mandalorian chief with similar credentials. My kind has hunted both Sith and Jedi, depending on the war. Kaeto and Kozen have both resisted the Emperor's pull and might have a unique understanding of how to deal with someone like Vaylin. If you break it down, we couldn't ask for a better team."

"That's—" Zolah paused, shedding her emotions for cold logic for the first time since she'd lost contact with Theron. "Those are actually good points." _Damn_. She hated it when Fynta did that.

The commander grinned. "I know how much you hate when I'm right. Why don't you take a break and let someone else man the controls? Go get some food, or...something more satisfying." Her eyes slid towards Vector with devilish intent.

The holo flickered, and Zolah's retort about the Commander of the Alliance being no better than a teenage boy died when Theron reappeared. Even through the monochromatic hues, she could tell he was furious. Running a hand through his hair, Theron blew out a breath. "Okay, so Koth installed a quantum bomb in the _Gravestone_ to keep Vaylin from gaining access to the Omnicannon. Can you advise me on the range if this thing blows?"

Zolah grabbed the back of a tech's chair and rolled them aside so that she could have access to their console. The woman squeaked in surprise, but Vector caught the chair before it could travel too far. Fingers flying over the keys, a picture began to emerge that Zolah didn't like. "If my information is current, a large portion of the Alliance fleet is docked within the blast radius. You can't let it detonate."

The sound of skin colliding with skin, and Koth's petulant grumbling from somewhere off screen while Tora admonished him for being an idiot filled the room. Theron growled and looked up from his datapad, ignoring the commotion behind him. "Okay, any ideas on how to shut it down remotely?"

Zolah scanned the information, using her implants to process the data and search for keywords simultaneously. "It doesn't appear so."

"Of course not," Theron grumbled. He deflated before Zolah's eyes, then visibly straightened his spine. "We'll contact you once we've got a plan. Wish us luck."

The comm went silent again and Zolah stood, her stomach tight with anxiety. Fynta cursed, then raised her hands when Zolah's glare found her. "On second thought, how about I have some cots delivered here?"

"Go, be with your husband," Vector urged, placing himself between Zolah and the commander. Zolah hardly noticed; she needed time to think, to plan. Strategy was Zolah's strong point, and Theron was good at what he did. If she could come up with a plan of action, Theron would know how to execute it. She just needed to clear her mind.

The muted conversation between Vector and Fynta only penetrated her thoughts when the commander sighed. "Yeah. I'll take care of that. Contact me if I can help." Zolah didn't ask what they'd discussed.

Moving to let the tech have her console back, Zolah went to her desk and began drawing contingencies for if the _Gravestone_ detonated while Vector escorted Fynta out of the War Room. He might walk her to the medbay if it looked like the woman was second guessing her decision to leave.

Taking a deep breath, Zolah relaxed her shoulders and spine, releasing the stress of Theron's involvement on the exhale. Once that was gone, she could finally see the different ways this could play out. Their odds were stiff, but with the right preparations, it was possible to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this plot moving. It's about to start getting crazy. I hope I'm ready for this!


	8. Conspiracy Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorgan faces the next of life's many hurdles, Kozen finds himself on the strangest planet he's even seen, Elara makes a decision, and Zolah juggles the alliance and one irritating commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Word Count: 5,811

**Odessen  
** **Alliance Base  
Commander's Quarters  
** **Four Days Later**

Jorgan forced himself look in the mirror, grimacing at the unfamiliar scrape of fabric across his brow. It took time to fit a soldier for an enhanced eye patch, leaving him with only the rough material to protect the damaged nerves from outside stimuli. Jorgan exhaled and told himself to be grateful that it hadn't been worse. There was still a chance of recovery, though slim. Medical science could do miraculous things; it had given Fynta a completely new leg. But, the technology on Odessen had been reduced to scraps; even with the brilliant minds behind them, Jorgan's partial blindness persisted.

"The pirate look suits you," observed a voice behind Aric. The Cathar shifted his gaze to find Fynta's reflection leaning against the wall with a grin. "Very sexy." His lip pulled back far enough to show teeth, but that had never fazed her. With a sigh, he pushed away from the mirror and turned to greet his wife.

"Been there, done that." Jorgan tried to focus on humor rather than the crushing fear about what came next. His latest scans hadn't been encouraging. Too many hits taken over a lifetime of service to a government that Aric no longer had faith in left him feeling wrung out. Maybe it was just his time; so many others had fallen while he'd persisted, the good soldier, the _survivor_.

Fynta pushed off the wall, closing the space between them and snaking her arms around Jorgan's body. They were tight, secure in a way that nothing else felt. "How about a shower?" Her nose wrinkled when she rubbed her face in the fur of his bare chest. "You smell like kolto." Jorgan grunted, waiting until Fynta disappeared into the fresher to pull the eye patch free. A milky film covered his right eye, a part of Dr. Oggurobb's experimental treatment. Had Yuun not backed the Hutt, Jorgan would have told the worm where to shove it before submitting to a Hutt, but the Gand had been insistent.

Lifting one hand, Aric shut his good eye and waved in front of his face. Only vague shadows registered from the damaged nerves. Familiar panic clenched around his heart. What if this was all he ever saw? He could learn to shoot left handed, but it would take more time than he had left to become even passable at it, much less an expert marksman. Fynta would still go out there, fighting a war on multiple fronts without him. Jorgan couldn't stand the thought of being left behind again, of losing her when he could have prevented it. Even Fynta could only resurrect so many times.

Fynta swung out of the fresher, using the door jam as anchor. "You coming, soldier?" Her body was uncovered and begging for Jorgan's attention. He smiled, finding joy in the image, even if it didn't translate to sexual desire. His gaze slid over Fynta's curves, settling on the hint of silver peeking around the corner. She'd once been where he is, unsure of the future, the subject of uncertain technology, and self conscious. It had taken nearly a month before Fynta would let Jorgan touch her false leg outside of maintenance. He would move past this, in time.

The swells of peace and overlapping waves of panic were exhausting. Jorgan let Fynta pull him into the fresher, uncomplaining as she undressed him. Fynta's touch remained playful instead of seductive, with little pats here and fingers sinking deep into the fur there.

"How about a massage?" Fynta asked when she stepped into the shower. It was too small for them both, but Jorgan remembered ways that they'd overcome that handicap. A smile tugged at his lips as he followed. There would be no impressive feats of balance this time, Jorgan could barely keep his own feet as it was, but he'd learn.

As Fynta worked soapy fingers over Jorgan's body, he released a sigh that eased the irritation he'd felt moments ago. Stress sloughed away, puddling at his feet with the suds while Fynta searched for every tense knot in his back. A low pur escaped before he could stop it, and Jorgan cleared his throat while turning to face his wife. "My turn."

Fynta grinned, somehow managing to look past Jorgan's damaged eye and conceal whatever emotions it triggered. "I heard that." Turning to present her back, Fynta wiggled her hips playfully against his groin.

"You heard nothing, woman." Jorgan bent forward to nip Fynta's shoulder while he brushed her hair aside. It was nearly to her shoulder blades now, half the length it had been before her encounter with Arcann, and covered the lightsaber scar on her back completely.

Fynta groaned when Jorgan found a particularly tight spot. Her eyes were closed, forehead resting against the rough, cave wall that still lined most of the base's interior. Moments like this were all that kept Aric going some days. The simple, domestic bliss that made him feel like more than a number in a report. "We need a vacation," he decided. Fynta snorted a laugh, then coughed up the water she'd sucked in with it. He smirked. "I'm serious, just you, me, and—"

Jorgan's hands fell from Fynta's shoulders, hanging heavy at his sides. Shillet, his daughter. He was going to lose her, and there wasn't a damn thing that he could do about it. With all of the confusion of the last few days, that had somehow slipped to the back of his mind. Aric's pulse quickened, room spinning until he had to brace one hand against the wall to keep from tipping. The comforting caress of steam had become a suffocating curtain.

Fynta's hands were on Jorgan's face. With a stubborn pull, she forced him to meet her eyes. "Tell me what you need, Aric. I'll make it happen."

Staring into those hard, blue eyes, Jorgan grounded himself in the belief that Fynta could accomplish anything that she set her mind to. The woman never gave up, even when there was nothing left to fight for. It was in her blood. Aric's voice broke. "I want my daughter back."

Fynta nodded, popping onto her toes to place a light kiss on Aric's lips. "Okay." She finished rinsing the soap from her hair and reached for the nozzle. "Down time is over."

Jorgan watched the last of the water circle the drain, his worries pushing through the steam and scattering what little comfort their shower had afforded. "Where are you going?" Fynta wrapped a towel around herself, then tossed one to him. He knew the set of her shoulders and that firm twist of her mouth. She'd be pulling boots on in less then ten minutes and heading for the door. Jorgan just wasn't sure in which direction.

Fynta paused while drying her hair, a sad smile pulling at her lips. "We've got work to do."

**Planet Unknown  
** **Abandoned City**

Kozen ignored the small probe that nudged at his hip again. The thing seemed intelligent in a rudimentary sense, stubborn in its directive of which Kozen still hadn't ascertained. He stood, stone still in the middle of a ruined courtyard, and focused his mind outward. Kaeto's presence called to him, like a siren song that lured sailors to their deaths in tales of old. He hadn't been apart from her in years, and now that absence was a physical pain. Kozen's chest tightened with each flair of battle adrenaline that trickled through their bond. She was near, engaged in combat, but still out of reach.

The probe chirped until Kozen turned a searing glare on it. He'd worked around droids long enough to know that they harbored a certain amount of self awareness, enough to act in their best interests. An active lightsaber was enough to stand his guide down. Once an agreement had been established, Kozen closed his eyes and reached through the Force once more. He felt...nothing. Not like in the empty lamentation of his youth when he stretched too far into the Dark Side of the Force, this was the absence of life after Vitiate had destroyed Ziost. Whatever had existed on this strange planet had vanished long enough in the past that there was not even an echo of the beings who'd once inhabited it.

_There_. Golden light pierced through the nothingness, twisting with violent intent. It grew in his mind, snaking through the empty streets and finally coalescing into what could only be Kaeto. Kozen's eyes snapped open, and he ran headless of what lay around the vine covered corner.

Within minutes, the sound of blaster fire, punctuated by the clank of Kaeto's swords, reached Kozen. He barely took a second to gauge the gap, then leapt without breaking stride. Shock waves traveled up Kozen's legs when he landed on the balcony across the street, forcing him to slow so that they didn't give out on him. Figures darted in and out of view to the east, lit by flashes of color. Kozen pushed the discomfort of his aching legs down and broke into a run once more.

Years of similar abuse to his body were beginning to catch up to Kozen. No Sith ever truly believed that they would live to the age where time posed more of a threat than the enemy. Kozen had led a hard life, using himself as a battering ram against the Empire's many foes. Though she never spoke of it, he knew that Kaeto suffered similar ailments. All warriors fell to decay eventually.

As Kozen drew near, he realized that there were staff sabers interspersed with the blaster fire. Knights in full Zakuulan armor stood back to back with officers from their fleet. One, particularly burly female had partnered with Kaeto. Kozen spotted a war droid circling around to flank the pair and propelled himself into a leap that brought him down on top of its dome. His weight alone would have been enough to topple the machine, but the red blade jutting from the central node ensured its demise.

The droid quivered, seized, then fell to the side. Kozen rolled away from the wreckage and came to his feet next to Kaeto. The Knight spun to engage before marking him as an ally. Her staff lowered, then sailed through the air to skewer the battle droid that had cornered a group of fleet officers. With that final stroke, the battle was over.

"We appreciate your aid." The large, female Knight's voice rasped through her damaged helmet while she walked to collect her weapon. Kaeto's eyes met Kozen's briefly, brushing his mind, while they searched one another for injury.

"Join us," Kaeto offered, her thick accent sending a shiver down Kozen's spine as it always had. Her lilting challenge had stayed his blade when they first met. That hint of other worldliness that captivated a mind that had been segregated his entire life. Kaeto had been the first Togruta that Kozen had met, and he'd been loath to admit over the years how much he enjoyed seeing the variety their galaxy held.

The Knight shook her head. "We have picked up transmissions from other vessels in distress. It is my duty to protect them." A note of hesitation entered her voice as the helmet shifted between Kaeto and Kozen. "There is news that Mistress Vaylin has been found. She's called us all to arms."

A snarl built in the back of Kozen's throat, his fingers itching to draw his blade and end the woman's chance to regroup with their enemies. Kaeto spoke, ignoring the tumult that she no doubt felt boiling within him. "Thank you for the warning. Go in peace, and may we never meet on the battlefield."

"And you," the Knight replied, then turned to her people and motioned towards their designated path.

Kozen watched the group pick their way through the droid debris, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. "It's a mistake to let them live."

"Perhaps." Kaeto retracted her sword blades and shoved them into the harness that crossed her back. In the next instant, her arms were around Kozen, startling a grunt from him. "Words can not express how pleased I am to see you." Slowly, Kozen returned his lover's embrace. He let Kaeto's warmth douse the flames of his rage, making way for the relief that she too was well.

The sound of scraping metal jerked Kozen's attention to the lone figure who hadn't followed the group. "Chakaar," Torian spat, offering another kick for good measure. Kozen hadn't felt the Mandalorian's presence. But then, he'd been too focused on finding Kaeto. One day, he would run straight through an ambush in a frantic search for her if he didn't control his emotions better.

Kaeto pulled away to greet her travel companion. "We should get moving too. More of these droids won't be far."

"Must be getting close to some kind of factory," Torian agreed. His holo chirped, revealing a flustered Theron Shan when the Mandalorian managed to pry it off his belt and answer. Torian offered a lopsided grin. "Never thought I'd be glad to see a Republic spy before."

"Yeah, well, never thought I'd be searching for a Sith, Jedi, and Mandalorian because I cared about their wellbeing, but here we are." Shan paused, then snorted a humorless laugh. "Remind me to turn that into a joke if we live."

Kozen allowed himself a heavy sigh. "Focus, Agent Shan." Despite their denial, Kozen saw little difference between the spy and the Alliance commander. Both were irreverent, disrespectful, and lacked professional timing.

"Right." Theron tapped on his datapad, pausing once to wiggle one of the wires that ran between his implants and the device. "You three are the last to be accounted for. We've found some kind of...I don't know, temple, maybe? Anyway, it's secure for the moment. I'm transmitting coordinates."

Torian's comm chirped, overlaying Theron's image with a plotted map section. The signal flickered, and Theron cursed. "I'm losing you. Just, get here ASAP. Theron out."

"Guess that means everyone else is okay," Torian added to the silence that followed Theron's departure. With rifle cradled in his arms, the Mandalorian chief checked their coordinates and motioned to the direction he deemed suitable. "Shouldn't be far."

**Coruscant  
** **Residential Sector  
** **Apartment 7865**

"Don't be preposterous." Elara moved the kettle from the heat and readied hers and Alexei's cups. "I couldn't possibly, and you'd do well to stop badgering me about it."

Alexei growled, not a sound he'd have dared ten years ago, and ran calloused fingers through his hair. The blonde strands had darkened in recent years, whereas Elara's had maintained the lighter coloring of their family. She wondered if it had to do with the stress of his job or something else.

"Stop that," Elara chastised, hiding any amusement behind her teacup. She firmed her tone so that her baby brother didn't think he could charm her into agreement. "You sound more like Balkar every day."

"That's my point." Alexei gestured at the apartment around them with the wave of one hand. He was in the sort of mood where the only acceptable solution to any problem was his. Elara sighed and stirred her tea with the spoon that she'd left in her cup while he beat the proverbial dead bantha. "I've got people, connected ones, with my best interests in mind. Wouldn't you like to have that kind of security too?"

Elara fixed her gaze on the amber liquid swirling beneath her fingers. She'd had that, once, until a single act of bravery had ripped it all away. Nothing had been the same since Fynta's disappearance, and each year only grew more difficult. She was tired of this conversation with Alexei, tired of defending her choices to a little brother who'd made his own share of questionable decisions.

Lifting the tea to her lips, Elara answered with a low, patient tone. "Those connections would grow perilously thin should the children and I suddenly vanish." She sipped, hoping her words would sink into his thick skull this time.

Alexei lowered himself on his elbows to put himself within Elara's line of sight, chin propped in his hands. She got a glimpse of the little boy who'd talked her into all kinds of mischief when they were younger. It warmed her heart, despite his infuriating persistence. "We've thought of that."

Elara's will faltered, eyes burning with the tears she'd stopped shedding months ago. Alexei gentled his voice and took one of her hands. "Listen, Balkar won't leave me hanging. I've got a plan, all I need is one solar day's notice. You and the kids could be free, Elara. Just think of it."

It was a tempting offer. A chance to leave this musty apartment that had never felt like home no matter how many trifles she filled it with. Hope leaked through a crack in her resolve for one, dangerous breath. "Alexei—" The door opened to reveal a more pressing obligation, one that couldn't be put off any longer. They pulled apart, though not before Elara gave her brother's hand a squeeze. "We'll talk more about this later."

Swiping quickly over her cheeks, Elara painted on a smile. "Hello, lovelies, did you have a good day?"

"Does it matter?" Shillet snapped as she helped Tayl out of his jacket.

Elara cast Alexei a pleading glance. He scowled a final time, then forced a jovial tone as he swiveled towards the children. "Who wants to help me dismantle a computer console?"

Tayl's face brightened as he scrambled away from Shillet to follow his uncle into the electronics room. Shillet stared after them, longing etched into her young features, then sighed and started for the opposite side of the apartment. "Let's get this over with." It was packing day, a day that they'd all ignored for so long that now there was no way to avoid it.

Elara accompanied Shillet to her room. It felt like it took longer than it should have, her broken heart dragging at her feet. When Elara crossed the threshold, it was to find Shillet sitting on her bed next to the laundry that Elara had folded earlier. With a breath for courage, Elara crossed to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer.

"What about this one?" Elara lifted the pink shirt with the lead singer from Shillet's favorite band on it. "Does it still fit?"

The Nautolan shrugged one shoulder while she folded a pair of pants. She'd matured a lot in the last year, taking on the womanly curves that marked her passage out of adolescence. They stood in her room, quietly cleaning out the drawers. Elara wanted to comfort the girl somehow, but there was simply nothing that could remove the sting of betrayal. Not by those who had raised her, but the Republic who had brought them together.

Setting the shirt aside, Elara went back to the dresser to choose her next task. Shillet was almost packed, with only the bare bottoms of plastic drawers to mark this injustice. She blinked away more tears before they could fall. Elara had tried everything to find a way out, even going so far as to plot an escape attempt with Balic, but none of their plans survived the initial stage.

A soft, blue sweater was squished into the corner, trapped between the joints of Shillet's dresser. Elara tugged it free without snagging the fabric and smiled. "I remember this one." She turned to show it to Shillet. Jorgan had purchased it as a surprise after the girl had begged all day. He'd given her a firm no, then changed his mind when she took it well. The joy that lit her face when he arrived unannounced a week later, bearing the gift, would live in Elara's memory forever.

Holding the sweater out, Elara offered it to Shillet. To her surprise, the Nautolan turned away and busied herself with lotions and soaps. A knot formed in Elara's throat at the rejection until she realized that Shillet hadn't packed any articles that held sentimental value. She was retreating, leaving all evidence of love behind so that she wouldn't be reminded of what she'd lost.

Elara's comm chirped in the other room, and Tayl appeared a moment later with it in hand. She'd just folded the sweater and set it on Shillet's bed when she realized that particular device shouldn't have been within his reach. "I'll take that, son."

Tayl handed it up, standing on his toes to peek at the frequency. He was due for a haircut, but Elara hated to deprive him of the only physical trait he'd inherited from his father. Ruffling those dark locks, Elara stepped out to answer in the privacy of her room.

Once the door was secure, Elara found herself face to face with Fynta's miniature form. Her stomach churned, though Elara wasn't sure if it was with joy at seeing Fynta, or dread at what news she might carry. "My old friend."

"Hey." Fynta was in a pair of black running shorts and some sort of shirt with reflective tape across her shoulders and stomach. She didn't give Elara a chance to ask what that was about. "I don't have long. I'm sure your apartment is bugged but we've got to act soon."

Elara's pulse quickened. "What's wrong?"

"A little bird told me that you're in need of a vacation." Fynta looked over her shoulder and waved someone off. Elara wondered if it was Aric, if he'd ever speak to her again. The thought of losing a treasured friendship made it difficult to breathe, but she pushed it aside to focus on the meaning between Fynta's words.

Fynta continued as if there hadn't been an interruption. "Tell Malcom that you want one more fond memory with the kids, choose somewhere in the Core Worlds, something suitably family friendly."

"They'll be watching," Elara warned, only just parsing out what Fynta intended. She made a mental note to have stern words with Alexei later. Though she wasn't sure how, he was most definitely involved. "If the commander allows it, there will no doubt be an armed guard assigned to watch for foul play."

Fynta nodded. "Of course, I wouldn't expect anything else."

Elara waited for more while someone shoved a datapad into Fynta's hands. She signed it, then pointed at another person that Elara couldn't see and made shooing motions. "Sorry, we're in the middle of a... _thing_ here. Anyway, you won't know when we'll strike. Go to this place, have a great time with the kids. When the moment is right, Shillet will simply vanish and you'll have a couple of government paid alibis."

"What if they lock down the park before you get away?" Elara asked, options and plans forming in her mind. Shillet had begged for nearly a year to visit Adventure World, and it fit all of Fynta's parameters.

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about us. When Shillet disappears, search for her. Get your guards involved, hell, ask local security to shut everything down. They won't find us."

Elara hesitated. "You're sure?" Before Fynta could answer, Elara added. "This isn't a mission for Havoc Squad or the specialists you have there. It's a little girl, and everything depends on you being right."

Leaning forward, Fynta pinned Elara with those deep blue eyes that had reassured her for years. "We won't mess this up. You have my word. Now hold on, someone else wants to say something."

Elara expected to see Balic, heart lifting with the possibility of seeing her husband. It was a surprise when Aric entered the frame. A thick band of leather wrapped around his head, creasing the fur and giving him a sinister look. Balic had told Elara about the infection and his treatment. Despite the tension between them, it was good to see the Cathar upright.

Aric took the comm from his wife, retreating to somewhere less crowded judging by the drop in noise. Jorgan's throat moved, jaw working the way it did when he was trying to control his temper. Finally, the Cathar blew out a breath. "I'm not happy with how things worked out, but I understand why you did it." Elara nodded, unable to think of anything to say that would make things more comfortable. Aric sighed. "We'll fix this. For everyone."

"Thank you," Elara managed through a tight throat. Jorgan nodded, and she knew their time was up. "Give Balic my love, and take care of yourself, Major."

"You too." The image winked out, leaving Elara with the sick sensation that she'd never see those surly features again. Once Shillet was free, there would be no need to risk contact. Especially if she could manage to get Tayl to them as well. The boy would be safe with his father, and she'd make Balic see the wisdom in cutting ties with her...somehow.

Tucking the comm beneath her pillow, Elara walked back into Shillet's room to find her and Tayl snickering under their breaths to one another. The stack of shirts still sat on Shillet's bed, and Elara breathed out. Soon, the girl would be where she belonged, and Elara would sleep peacefully knowing her children were safe.

Crossing the room, Elara picked up the discarded clothes and tucked them back into the drawer. "I think we can leave these here a little longer."

**Odessen**  
**War Room  
** **Emergency Council Meeting**

CONNECTION FAILED

"Shit-fuck." The datapad skittered across the table, unbalancing piles of equally useless information before clattering to the floor. Zolah blew out a breath and curled worn fingers into her hair until the pain at her roots smothered the irritation building within.

Zolah Holran, who had once been prized for her ability to solve puzzles, was failing. There had been no situation that her rationale couldn't pierce through, and yet two weeks later, Theron was still missing, and she was no closer to picking up a trail. That algorithm had been her last idea, and it mocked her with repeating lines of catastrophic decline.

Warm hands rested on Zolah's shoulders, fingers tightening to show support. She righted herself, ignored the furtive glances from her techs, and stood. "I'm going to take a walk."

Vector relinquished his grip and offered a soothing smile. "We will maintain vigil." Zolah experienced a moment of weakness and almost asked Vector to join her. He would have, if only because that was the sort of man he was. In the end, Zolah turned without voicing her desires and left him to the search for their missing piece.

Cool air filled Zolah's lungs when she exited the information room. She often forgot how hot it got in there. After hours, the stifling atmosphere became just another meaningless irritation to be ignored while numbers flitted across her screen. A chill drifted along her arms, but Zolah refused to rub it away. She embraced the discomfort as proof that she was alive, and while she still drew breath, the hunt for their lost companions wouldn't end.

There had to be a way to marry a Force-users ability to connect over impossible distances with technology. Notiac and Solish assured Zolah daily that they still felt the life force of the rescue team. Kozen, Lana, and Kaeto were still alive, though nothing could be said for the others. Zolah refused to be daunted by that and pressed on with ever more inventive ways to track any kind of signal. Perhaps another visit to the resident Findsman was in order. Yuun had been working on the situation from his end as well. It had been a couple of days since Zolah had checked in with him.

As she walked, Zolah noticed the faces around her with an absent awareness. She trusted her implants to ping any suspicious behavior while the majority of her mind focused on building the next step. What had begun as a stairwell with numerous avenues of exploration had been whittled down to a rickety ladder that Zolah pieced together as she moved upward. She balanced on the shards of her failures and searched for new materials with which to begin again.

Zolah's proximity alarm sounded, and she jerked her shoulder away to avoid a young woman's distraction. Noara Starspark backed past, pausing mid-sentence when she realized how close Zolah stood. The Jedi pressed a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Agent Holran."

With a wave, Zolah's gaze slid from the woman to the newly opened door she'd emerged from. There were others milling about in a conference room usually reserved for council business. Fynta's voice leaked from the doorway, setting Zolah's already frayed nerves on edge. Her implants performed a perfunctory scan of each face that filed from the room, connections forming at a speed unenhanced brains couldn't manage.

"I trust that I don't have to remind you of the consequences should this information leak," Fynta called after the retreating mass while Zolah pressed against the flow of the traffic. "I'll know if anyone talked." Hirani raised her middle finger with a laugh while Felix's girlfriend let out a wry chuckle. Zolah ignored them and stormed towards the commander.

As soon as the remnants faded out of the room, Zolah positioned herself directly in front of the woman. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"My job," Fynta answered as she stepped around Zolah to gather napkins and disposable cups from the conference table. Had the damn woman fed them snacks while divulging sensitive Alliance intelligence? "Keeping people who need to know in the loop."

"They didn't need to know," Zolah argued, hands balled so tightly into fists that her nails pricked into the skin of her palms. "What did you tell them?"

The smirk on Fynta's face almost overrode Zolah's ability to keep her hands to herself. Stopping to toss trash into the bin, Fynta dusted her hands on her pants. "That we're doing all that we can. Shab, Zolah, after two weeks, people at least need to know that we're _aware_ that their soldiers haven't come home. Most of those women have been here longer than I have. I highly doubt any of them are a security risk."

Pressing her fingertips into her temples, Zolah blew out a long breath. If she let Fynta's brashness get the better of her, the woman won. Her only defense in this situation was cold logic. Finding the calm deep, _deep_ within herself, Zolah began again. "Matters like this need to be cleared with the council, despite your _hunches_ about who is reliable and who isn't." When she looked up, Fynta studied her with the narrowed eyes and head tilt that Zolah had become accustomed with. Despite her effort, Zolah bristled at the unwanted examination. "What?"

"You look like osik," Fynta observed without a hint of irony. It had been days since Zolah slept longer than a couple of hours. She survived mostly on caffeinated teas and stims.

"Not that I blame you," the commander continued. "If that were Aric, or any member of my family out there, I wouldn't stop until they were found." She didn't move to touch Zolah, but the slight shift of weight onto the forward foot revealed the habit. Fynta covered it by wiping crumbs from the table into her hand. "Still, you need to get out more. Take a day off with Vector and picnic in the mountains. Do something other than stare at screens, just for a few hours today."

Zolah accepted the suggestion without any real consideration. Of course she wouldn't take a day trip into the mountains, neither would Fynta if their situations were reversed. It was a pep talk fit for the average grunt, and Zolah was offended that Fynta would attempt it on her.

Shrugging, Fynta dumped her collection into the bin and started for the door. "Just a suggestion. If there's nothing else, I've got things to do. Let me know if anything changes."

It wasn't until after Fynta left that her words tickled a vague sense of deja vu. Fynta had cleared her calendar the day before, an issue that Vector had handled while Zolah worked on the useless algorithm that had vexed her all morning. The commander had claimed that it was to help Jorgan through his healing process, an orbital vacation, as Fynta called it.

Zolah's instincts gnawed at her. It wasn't uncommon for Fynta to sneak away, not since regaining her memories and realizing what losing five years of her life meant. Still, the timing felt off. Fynta was many things, a list of negatives too long for Zolah to number, but the woman wouldn't slink off at a time when so many close to her were unaccounted for.

Retrieving her personal datapad, Zolah pulled up launch requests from the night before. The _Thunderclap_ had been given permission for a late evening orbit. Zolah reviewed the fuel allotment and navilogs, suspecting most of the latter was falsified. Fynta couldn't know that Zolah had begun requiring a crew chief signature fuel requests, though, and there was no way to fake those numbers. One brow lifted at the readout. "What are you up to?"

Perhaps, Zolah might take the commander's advice into consideration. On a whim, she opened a line of communication to the only other woman capable of running this alliance. The Miriluka appeared in Zolah's palm, still in the process of attaching her mask. Zolah pretended not to notice the smooth skin where eyes should be and greeted the Jedi with a cordial tone. "Master Carlo, I wonder if I might ask a favor of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed Noara Starspark from Keirra, who writes an adorable romance between the Jedi Knight and Torian.


	9. Reunions and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolah shows that she's still the better spy, shots are fired, and Fynta's fears come true.

**Odessen  
** **Hangar Bay Elevator  
** **0500 Hours**

Zolah followed Fynta's progress through the base via the security cameras. She'd timed her interception in the elevator to cut off Fynta's escape routes. After some deliberation with Vector, and a few quiet threats in key places, they'd ascertained the commander's full scheme. The tricky part had been deciding what to do about it.

Fynta, like so many soldiers, operated under the misguided notion that she was the only one capable of fixing her own problems. Though Zolah would prefer to stay in the control room in case Theron's team made contact, Vector would not be swayed. He was more than capable of seeing this mission through without her, but Zolah had already lost contact with Theron. It pained her to admit that the thought of losing Vector too brought her to near panic. She came up with some excuse as to why she was the only one capable of hacking the Republic's systems and volunteered herself for the rescue mission. Vector's quiet smile nearly made her back out.

Checking off the final preparations for their mission, Zolah confirmed that Vector had gained access to the _Thunderclap_ and had begun preliminary checks while she waited. The doors opened, revealing the commander of the Alliance with a rucksack thrown over one shoulder and a startled expression that pulled at the corner of Zolah's facade.

Zolah didn't look up from her datapad. "Seems rather foolish to take on a Republic infiltration by your lonesome." Slowly, her gaze lifted, pausing on to the tattoo surrounding Fynta's right eye. "Especially with such a recognizable face."

Blue eyes narrowed as the commander stepped in. "Theron or Vector?"

Zolah lifted one noncommittal shoulder. "Does it matter?" Finishing her task, she tucked the datapad out of the way. "You should recycle the passcodes on the _Thunderclap_ more often. It was far too easy to break into."

Rage colored Fynta's cheeks an interesting shade of red. She pointed at Zolah, half a breath away from jabbing the accusing finger into her chest. "If you think disabling my ship will stop us—"

"Nonsense." Zolah waved the threat away with the same casualness that Vector had dismissed Elara's debt. Fynta's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut as suspicion took over. Zolah offered her sweetest smile. "Do you have a plan?"

"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine." Fynta's adolescent response was delivered with the expected grin.

Zolah hummed an amused sound that didn't make it to a chuckle. "Vector is currently performing preflight checks on your ship. I imagine your husband has discovered this by now, or soon will. It wouldn't do for us to miss our floor." Her gaze dipped towards the still blank control panel. Fynta spun with a curse and smashed the ball of her hand against the hangar bay selection that she desired and they continued the trip in silence.

Stepping off, Zolah was pleased to see the boarding ramp lowered and an armored figure checking off a list. It seemed that Jorgan hadn't met Vector's intrusion with as much animosity as Fynta had hers. Zolah couldn't say if that surprised her or not. Major Jorgan had a quick temper, but he was a logical man who knew when to accept aid.

Before they could approach, Fynta pulled Zolah to a stop. "Why?"

"Why am I going? Why am I allowing _you_ to go? Or why did you not realize that you'd been made?" Zolah tipped her head, waiting for the answer to any of those questions. Fynta was brash, but even she couldn't expect to sneak off base without being noticed.

"Yes," Fynta answered, waving one arm at the ship. "All of them."

Zolah started walking again, one finger held aloft and leaving Fynta to catch up. "I am going because I am the best chance you have of pulling this off. You have training, but it is not nearly as extensive." She lifted a second when the commander pulled even. "Make no mistake. I have no stake in your family's drama, choices were made and consequences followed. However, Theron still considers you a friend, and I made him a promise. That, and Vector cares for you. For your last question…" Zolah paused to waggle the three didgets, savoring her next words. "You've gotten sloppy in recent years, not your fault, five years out of the game takes its toll, but I'll not risk the face of the Alliance because you've forgotten the fine art of subtly."

Fynta watched Zolah's fingers like a fish about to snatch bait from a hook. Her eyes narrowed, arms folding over her chest with a defiance that Zolah had become accustomed to. "I haven't gotten sloppy."

"Let me guess." Zolah began moving, covering the space between them and the _Thunderclap_ at a quicker pace. "You're going to burst in, blasters hot, and hope for the best because—" the sound of her palms colliding echoed loud enough to make Jorgan glance up from his task. "—because you're Fynta."

"Fuck you," the woman snapped, in Basic no less. Zolah must have touched a nerve.

"Or," Zolah unlocked her datapad and offered it to the commander. "We could do it my way." She and Vector had begun contingency planning from the moment Jorgan arrived with Havoc in tow. With Theron's knowledge of Republic procedure, the whole thing practically built itself. Unbeknownst to her, Fynta had set the stage with her secret call to Elara for a bloodless extraction.

Fynta swiped through the screen, then doubled back around to the beginning. They'd reached the _Thunderclap_ when she spoke. "Shab, this actually isn't half bad" A grin spread across her face as she returned the device. "It's damn good, actually. Okay, let's do this your way." She clapped Zolah on the back, kissed her husband's cheek, and started up the ramp.

Zolah blew out a long breath and shook her head. "I hate it when she does that." Instead of opposition, Zolah's plan had been met with total acceptance. Fynta Wolfe was _still_ unpredictable, which made her both a liability and an asset. Zolah just hoped that whichever one the commander settled on this time, it worked in their favor.

_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **En route to Carrick Station**

"I'm going." Fynta looked up from fastening her thigh plates to find Aric glaring at her from the doorway. The stubborn set to his jaw was unexpected, as was the amount of anger in his voice. Truthfully, Fynta would have worried if he hadn't demanded to be included.

Holding her hands up, Fynta surrendered without fully knowing what they were arguing over. "Wouldn't dream of leaving you behind." She heard the exhaustion in his voice, though, and saw the pain in his good eye. The Cathar's headaches persisted despite receiving a clean bill of health. The technical term for it had too many letters for Fynta to pronounce, but the doctors assured Aric that the pain would recede with time. Of course, those same medical professionals probably hadn't accounted for a covert mission into Republic territory, either.

Aric snorted, then slumped onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Fynta stepped in front of him, letting her fingers slide up the back of his neck to massage his scalp. The muscles there were alway tense these days. She beat down her own sense of failure for putting her loved ones in this position. Not for the first time, Fynta teetered on the edge of _what if_ , fantasizing about things that were impossible. "It's almost over, riduur. Just breathe."

Nodding, Aric rested his forehead against Fynta's stomach. "Yeah." After a minute, he stood and adjusted the strap encircling his skull. "Let's do this." He was so close to breaking that Fynta worried any more disappointment would tip him over the edge. She refused to fail her husband again.

The speaker in the corner of their room crackled, the irritating noise soothed by Vector's melodic tones. "Ten minutes until arrival." Fynta liked him better than anyone else in the Alliance. The Joiner was odd, but in an endearing way. She hadn't met a person yet whom he had failed to win over. The man must have been one hell of a diplomat in his day, and an even better sparring partner.

Aric's hands rested on Fynta's hips, guiding her to the side so that he could reach his helmet. Fynta caught Aric's arm as he started past her. Their eyes met, and he offered a small nod before disappearing behind the nondescript visor. She released him and turned to finish her own preparations.

Fynta's armor, now unrecognizable by anything that the Republic had in her file, made her just another mercenary in beskar. There were plenty of those these days, drifting through the system looking for easy targets. Aric had repainted his months ago, covering the Havoc symbol with black and brown in a splotchy job that looked amateurish. It had been a symbolic moment that made Fynta's gut twist. The day that Major Aric Jorgan turned his back on the Republic for good.

Zolah waited on the bridge, mulling over last minute details with Vector. She'd covered herself, revealing nothing but the eerie, red eyes that could have belonged to half a dozen other species. Sensing their presence, the Chiss glanced up. "Looks like everyone is ready. Vector, contact the tower with your suspicions and keep the engines on standby." She tugged the scarf around her face down long enough to give Vector a kiss, then turned towards Fynta and Aric.

"I see there is no making you see reason." Fynta nearly snapped back at the woman, when she realized that Zolah's comment was aimed at Aric. With a sigh, the Chiss pulled her scarf back into place. "Very well."

While Zolah shepherded Fynta and Aric from the bridge, she caught the beginning of Vector's call. He'd dropped the melodic tones of a Joiner for the pomposity of a nobleman. "What's the distraction?" Fynta asked when they were out of hearing range. She checked that her Verpine was loose in the holster, ticking off her options for non-lethal engagements if it came down to it.

Zolah released the clamps to lower the ramp. "A contract has been put on Vector's life and bounty hunters dog his every step."

A smile pulled at Fynta's lips. "Hostage take." If they were made, she'd grab Shillet as a shield and force Zolah and Vector to ferrie her off the station at blaster point. "I like it."

"I don't," Aric argued, voice tight and posture rigid. His faceplate angled towards Fynta, and she could read the Cathar's scowl without seeing it.

"Worst case scenario," Fynta promised, then pulled on her helmet so that she was as inconspicuous as the rest.

When the ramp finished it's decnet, Fynta swaggered off the ship and through the hallway leading to the main deck. They'd opted to ignore the lifts and keep to the stairs to avoid cameras. Elara should be in the cantina in twenty minutes, if all went according to plan. Hopefully, the kids were hungry after a fun-filled day at ActionWorld, and Elara had been instructed to take every delay possible while returning to the Republic. Fynta hoped that the guards were tired too.

Zolah whispered into Fynta's ear through the built in comms. "Vector has been granted clearance for immediate departure should his life be in danger."

"Good work." Fynta entered the cantina and leaned against the bar. She made a show of scanning the menu board while Jorgan looked over the restaurant. "Wander around and let me know if you see anything that could become a problem."

"Now, why didn't _I_ think of that?" Zolah asked in a bewildered tone.

Fynta pictured the wide, red eyes and curled blue lips. She almost laughed, but stopped when Aric touched her arm. "There she is." Aric's voice rattled with suppressed emotion. He leaned forward, fingers twitching where they curled around her forearm. Fynta followed the angle of his visor to where a teenage Nautolan held the hand of a little boy with dark, shaggy hair. Elara came next, steering the children towards a booth in the back. "They've grown so much."

"Steady," Fynta replied, resting her hand on his. If not for the armor, she was sure that he'd have a crushing grip.

Together, Fynta and Aric watched Elara talk to the server droid, motioning for Shillet to do the same. Two men entered the cantina next, a lookalike duo of humans with high and tight haircuts and stiff gaits. "I see the muscle."

Aric didn't respond, but Zolah did. "I've patched into your helmet cam and am running ID checks. One moment…there. They are Republic SpecForce, likely your goons. Standard resumes for, no disciplinary marks...completely ordinary grunts."

The sneer in that Imperial accent tugged at Fynta's sense of competitiveness. She couldn't help but snap back at the famed cipher agent. "Glad to hear that I'm not as out of the game as you feared." Fynta poured as much false cheer into her tone as she dared. This time, Aric's visor turned towards her, a reminder that there were more important things at stake than her pride. She cleared her throat and moved on. "Are they going to be an issue?"

"Only if you get squeamish," Zolah replied. Aric rumbled deep in his throat, causing a passing Rodian to quicken her pace. "Fine, no casualties. You might have to get creative then."

Aric's posture went rigid, his sharp inhalation dragging Fynta's gaze towards their targets. Shillet stood, following Elara's outstretched arm to the bar. The Nautolan ambled over, fingers wrapped around the credits that Elara had given her, and stopped next to Aric. Shillet cast her father a wary glance, then stepped away. She couldn't have recognized his new armor, and understood when to keep her distance.

Fynta watched the guards glance away from their appetizer to do a head count, then return to eating. It had been hot on ActionWorld, no doubt. Those soldiers had chased two excited kids through the amusement park all day in heavy, blaster resistant fabric with senses on high alert. Now, they got to sit and enjoy a decent meal in a climate controlled environment. Fynta hoped it was enough to slow their reflexes.

"Two Nectrose Freezes," Shillet said when the server droid rolled down the bar. She dropped credits onto the counter, staring ahead when Aric slid closer. Fynta saw the girl tense and wondered if she'd bolt before they had the chance to snag her.

"I remember you being more polite than that." Aric's voice was low, barely a murmur. There was a gut wrenching sense of nostalgia in it. Pride, even.

Shillet's head snapped around, staring into the faceplate before remembering that she shouldn't make eye contact. Fynta took that as the signal to move, blocking the girl from view by stopping a drink droid. She heard Aric's smile through his speakers. "Are you ready to go home?" So much relied on the next few seconds, but Fynta was momentarily distracted by the surrealness of the moment. This was Aric's daughter, a girl that he'd raised for the last six years. A complete stranger.

The girl's arms lifted as if to hug Aric, then dropped back to her sides. Shillet had been an abstract concept that Fynta couldn't grasp for months. Now, she realized how connected they were, that this gangly Nautolan teenager needed Aric as much as he needed her. Fynta pushed the feeling of being an outsider down and focused on the task. "Move this along," she whispered when the droid ambled on its way.

Movement slid past Fynta's hip, and she looked back in time to see Elara's boy take Shillet's hand. "Mum says that I should use the loo before we eat."

Aric straightened, turning his back when the guards looked around for Shillet. Fynta returned to the bar and watched the room's reflection through the mirror above it. She saw Elara nod and knew that the woman had made the connection as well. "Go on, kid," Fynta said, urging Shillet to move on before their escort grew suspicious.

"Sure, Tayl," Shillet sighed without looking at Aric. "Let's find the bathroom."

"They're headed towards the freshers," Fynta reported while Aric watched the kid's progress. One of the guards wiped his mouth and stood to follow while the other stayed to shadow Elara. "The babysitter is en route, are you in position?"

A long pause followed, punctuated by a startled squeak. Zolah's smug voice followed. "I've got them. We'll take the maintenance corridor and meet you at the ship."

"I'm going to cause a distraction," Aric replied, pushing away from the bar. When Fynta looked at him, she could hear his smile. "I didn't think you'd leave without her."

"See you at the ship, riduur." Fynta waited for Aric to vanish after the guard. A second later, the one tailing Elara touched his ear, then bolted from his booth. Fynta hoped that Aric didn't enjoy his distraction so much that he couldn't make it back to the _Thunderclap_. Not when things were going so well.

Gabbing her drink, Fynta started for the booth and slid into the seat across from Elara. The woman tensed, attention jerking up from the tissue she'd been wrestling from her purse. Wet streaks decorated the woman's cheeks and Fynta clicked her tongue. "You didn't really think that I'd leave you here, right?"

Elara glanced around, panic edging into her eyes as they landed on the empty table where her escort had been. Her words fumbled through an accent thick enough that Fynta almost couldn't keep up. "Where are the children? This wasn't part of the plan, how can I return now that they have you on camera? Quickly, leave before they lock down the station."

Fynta leaned her elbows on the table. "This was never going to work." She saw in Elara's eyes what the woman already knew. "Losing Shillet will taint you no matter how elaborate the plan, Tayl going missing too? That's a coincidence no one could overlook. It's only a matter of time before they come after you. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a Republic brig?"

Elara shook her head. "I'll lead them to your base, you can't take me, I've…" her words trailed off, shoulders straightening with a nod of her head. "I've made peace with my future."

"Well, I haven't." Fynta stood, checking the exit for any signs of Aric's guards. "We'll figure out the tracking chip, but I'm not leaving you here. Cormac needs you...so do I."

Elara chewed her lip, grey eyes locked on Fynta with an uncertainty that she'd never seen in the former medic's expression. It was a stark reminder of the magnitude that now separated them. Years of fighting parallel battles so far from anyone they could trust. After a quick glance around, Elara finally nodded. "Very well."

Fynta turned towards the stairs, only to find them blocked by one of the guards. The one that Aric had gone after was nowhere to be seen, but this one looked pissed. "Aric, are you back at the ship?"

"I'm here, the kids too." Aric paused, and Fynta heard the resignation in his voice. "Are you about to make a scene?"

Fynta's hand drifted towards her blaster. "Maybe."

A heavy sigh answered, but it was Zolah who spoke. "Before you start a firefight, let me try something." Again, the insect-like chittering of fingers blazing across a datapad filled Fynta's helmet. Zolah chuckled. "I hope no one is afraid of the dark."

The lights blinked out before Fynta could respond, plunging the cantina in darkness. A pale, yellow glow bathed the room when the emergency generators kicked on. Fynta grabbed Elara's hand and broke into a run. She hit the trooper with her shoulder, toppling him and landing with a grunt on top of him. Elara darted past, heading for the lifts. When the guard tried to rise, Fynta's gauntleted fist convinced him to stay put.

Fynta scrambled to her feet, catching up in time for a bolt to ping off her armor. She grunted and stumbled forward, slamming into Elara when the woman turned to see what had happened. "Go," Fynta shouted, tucking her Verpine beneath one arm and using the side of her chest plate to steady against the kick with each squeeze of the trigger. Her aim went wide, scattering civilians and leaving harmless scorges along the walls. Fynta preferred not to shoot soldiers who were only following orders, but resolved that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

Another round struck Fynta's lower back, causing her prosthetic to stutter mid-step. She must have made a sound, because Aric was in her ear, shouting the order to keep moving. The other guard had recovered, kneeling beside his unconscious partner and snarling through blood streaked lips. The image was a grisly reminder of what it meant to get between a Cathar and his family.

Elara made it into an open lift, waving for Fynta to move faster. She cannoned into the small space and pinned Elara to the wall, using her body as a shield. Two more bolts made it through before the door closed, trapping them inside with a pilot who looked like he had one drink too few to deal with this osik.

Forcing a laugh, Fynta activated her external speakers. "Just like old times."

"I haven't missed this," Elara snipped, patting at her still perfect hair while the pilot pressed himself against the far wall with the expertise of a man who knew how to avoid getting shot once those doors opened. The women ignored him, and Elara even managed a tight smile. "But yes, I have missed you my irresponsible friend."

The doors pinged open to show Aric on the ramp of the _Thunderclap_ , waving his hands. Elara ran first while Fynta covered their retreat in case station security decided to get involved. Aric slammed the palm of his hand into the ramp up button before Fynta had cleared it, gripping her arms to haul her the rest of the way in while Elara signaled the bridge to take off.

Their breathing sounded loud in the sudden quiet of the cargo bay, and Fynta jerked her helmet off to catch her breath. Aric pulled Elara into an uncharacteristic hug before holding her again at arm's length to check for injuries. With a thin smile, the Cathar cleared his throat. "Good to have you back, Dorne."

"Yes, sir," Elara breathed, looking around the familiar bay of the _Thunderclap_. "It's good to be back."

Fynta opened her mouth to greet her longtime friend, when Elara pulled out of Aric's grasp and slammed into her with enough force to take her back two steps. Her helmet skipped along the floor, stopping at Aric's boots. He smirked, picked it up, then started for the main room.

"Thank you," Elara whispered, arms so tight around Fynta's neck that she'd have been crushed were it not for the beskar. "That was a foolish thing to do, you haven't changed at all."

Fynta laughed, embracing her friend and allowing faded memories of their time together to flow through her newly repaired mind. Tension that she hadn't realized was there snapped, leaving Fynta giddy. Now that Elara was back, they were one step closer to being whole again.

_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **En route to Odessen**

Shillet touched her father's face with her left hand while Tayl clung to her right. The fur on the right side of Aric's head was indented by the straps of his eye patch. The strings settled over one ear and wrapped around it like a crown, but Shillet couldn't see past the way it aged him. Aric Jorgan, the infamously grumpy Cathar soldier, looked ten years older than he had the last time Shillet had seen him.

Letting her fingers trace the spots above his damaged eye, Shillet felt the warm prick of tears. "It doesn't hurt," Aric lied. She knew it had to be, because that's what parents did. They never believed that their children were strong enough for the truth, so they painted over it with pretty colors until the ugliness of their galaxy broke through. He ruffled her head tresses like when she'd been a kid, then pulled her into another ferocious hug.

Shillet let herself relax against her father, inhaling the comfortable scent of armor and blaster oil that always clung to him. Her arm tightened around Aric's waist while she silently wished that Tayl would find some other island of refuge. Just this once. It wasn't until he released her that Shillet realized that Tayl had been the only thing keeping her emotions in check. Without him to be strong for, her walls crumbled.

With a sob, Shillet and crushed Aric closer, fingers hooked in the back of his belt. She couldn't make her arms unlock, not even when she heard Elara's voice. The serene sense of being safe faded to be replaced by crushing grief that she'd almost lost everything. How close she'd come to never feeling her father's arms around her again. Aric stroked Shillet's head tresses and tucked her head beneath his chin. He didn't say anything, and she didn't expect him to. He held her, and that was enough.

"You're her. The one mum always talks about." Tayl's uncharacteristic greeting brought Shillet back to herself. She probably looked like an idiot, some blubbering child clinging to a parent instead of weathering her emotions like a soldier. She pulled away, surprised when Aric wiped at his own eye, then found Tayl holding Elara's hand and staring up at Fynta. They were across the room, but the air felt suddenly heavy knowing that Aric's wife was in the same space.

"Nice to finally meet you, kid." Fynta held out a hand, grinning like she'd just heard a joke and would be thinking about it all day. Shillet bristled and pressed closer to her father's side while Tayl stared up at the woman with awe. "I've heard a lot about you. Your mom and dad are good friends of mine."

Tayl's head tipped as he took Fynta's hand. The boy didn't offer any more words to the woman who'd ruined all of their lives, but Shillet didn't get the impression that he was afraid of her either. Tayl was a quiet boy, calculating like his mother but less prone to share his opinion. He studied every situation and never made a decision until he was sure. It had been a nightmare when he was a toddler, then mildly annoying as a school student.

"Come on, Tayl," Elara crooned. Her smile was radiant, lifting the years off that Aric had gained. "Let's see if the kitchen is stocked, I'm sure you're still hungry."

As she passed, Elara rested a hand on Shillet's shoulder, offering a warm expression that felt more like a plea than reassurance. Shillet crossed her arms and leveled Fynta with an unimpressed glare when the woman started towards them.

Aric wrapped one arm around Shillet's shoulder, holding his other hand out for Fynta to join them. "Come, meet our daughter."

Shillet's lip curled, bitter words slipping through her guard before she could stop them. "She's not my mom." Aric tensed and Fynta stopped short of taking his hand. Shillet almost apologized, then decided that she wasn't going to pretend that everything was okay. Shaking her head, she pointed towards the conference room. "Elara's my mom. You're the one that messed it all up."

"Shillet," Aric snapped, but Fynta held up a hand.

Shillet met the woman's measuring gaze for long seconds, refusing to break contact first. Her chin lifting, Shillet realized that she was nearly as tall as Fynta. The giant that everyone spoke so highly about was short. Sure, the older woman had more muscle, but that would come in time. Standing before her was just a woman, a regular human who wasn't even all that pretty. Her father could have done better.

"She's right," Fynta stated, the unexpected acquiescence stealing heat from Shillet's indignation. "I didn't raise her, Elara did. And she did a damn fine job of it, too."

Fynta's hand bridged the gap between them, hovering a respectful distance away. Shillet eyed the appendage, wondering if this was some sort of trap to get the upper hand in what was sure to become a contest for Aric's attention. She considered walking away, of telling her father that she needed time to process and joining Elara and Tayl where it was more comfortable, but that would disappoint him.

Grudgingly, Shillet accepted Fynta's offer in a loose grip that conveyed everything she couldn't say out loud. The older woman accepted, then smiled. "I've got to make a call. You two have some catching up to do."

When Fynta left, Aric sighed. "You're going to have to be nice to her eventually." With a hand on each shoulder, he directed Shillet towards the door that Elara and Tayl had vanished through.

"Maybe," Shillet admitted. She'd expected Fynta to muscle into their clique, to try and be the mother that everyone thought she needed. It was off putting to be told that she didn't have to put up a false front. Still, the woman couldn't be trusted. Not after everything her family had gone through.

Aric stopped and turned Shillet to meet his gaze. She did so stubbornly, her blatant stare an act of rebellion despite being overjoyed to be with him again. Shillet wouldn't feel guilty, not for speaking the truth that everyone else overlooked. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again in a sigh. A tight lipped smile, tinged with resignation, preplaced whatever her father had planned to say. "I'd almost forgotten how stubborn you are."

Shillet found a laugh somewhere inside. A manic thing that resonated from deep within, bubbling up so violently that it hurt. Aric pulled her into another hug, then kissed her forehead. "Come on. I stocked your favorite MRE."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shillet is 100% teenage rage right now, and honestly, who can blame her.


End file.
